Most read stories

A Child is Born

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I came out of the Quick Stop and found her in the back seat of my ten-year-old Camry. I don’t know who she is, or why she chose my car. I do know she’s having a baby any minute now.

fabulous birds

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Fabulous birds perched nearby, where we were. In their memory there goes the little god, original, in the midst of it all, happiness like anything near the river-mouth. Letting yourself dabble in the femaleness of it. In the lower world or on the playin

Straps

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high school football players who'd been hit wrong and instantly become quadriplegics

Anger Management

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How many extinctions can we claim?/ Is someone keeping score?/ Somebody needs to keep the score

Watching the Clock

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Benjamin did everything by the clock. He ate when the little hand pointed to five and the big hand pointed to six. He danced when the little hand pointed to three and the big hand pointed to seven. He slept when they both hit twelve.To be more precise, he did everything…

Winter Queen

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Love is

picture (im)perfect

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not

Pahk Your Kahma in Hahvahd Yahd

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“Namaste,” I say as I hand the guy his ticket. “The divinity within me salutes the divinity within you. Have a nice freaking day.”

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 50

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Oriana, much as she wanted to, did not sleep with Francesco, propriety ruled.

Letter to Garrison Keillor

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Hilda Raz lost a daughter. Her son gained a persona, backed by biological components. I was impressed by his male-pattern baldness. A biological genius. And yet, I was reduced and in the elevator mentioned crying about it.

The Blistering Continent

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Marvin and first had met four years ago on an iron train peeling through the seething Asian night on rails between Bangkok and Chiang Mai city...

Quel Bordel

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Our friend, M. Dieu-Juste partnered in a used car business with a Vietnamese mechanic, Mr. Tran. Cars however, were not their only venture.

The Young Hate the Old

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The old hate the young. Robe exposed monks do not Hate mosquitoes. It is one. It is one hand. It is on. Mountains don't hate sky. The rich hate the poor. The poor hate the rich. The parade of scholars hate the …

Fortune Favours

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We're all just meat and atoms who can no more sense into the great beyond than a horse can fly a plane.

Still Photographs

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one will become a tobacco king; another will steal copper plumbing on moonlessnights.

From the Cradle

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Loss and awakening are irrevocable. Love and grief are one.

Pitcher

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the shape only adhering

2 Haiku

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We’re heading to a Poetry reading when my wife Says “You owe me one” Coming back from the Poetry reading, my wife says “You owe me, big time”

The Wedding Is Off

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I sat in the kitchen with the phone in my hand. The phone had just stopped ringing. When it rang, its screen lit up with the face of the caller. It vibrated and played a tune called "Dusk 2 Dawn." Now the kitchen was silent.

My nose

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When I was 14 I accidentally heard a woman saying behind my back

O Starving Poet

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A novel is an idea that has Survived many severe beatings While a poem is a homely thing that was Never even asked to the dance Art Speak, however, is the art of Systematically overstating and Re-inventing the Obvious to the point of Distr

Freedom

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His senses were heightened. The scratching on the table with his finger nails, intense nervousness, the noise magnified every second, the ball point pen was piercing into his sweaty palm.

The Sadness of Being On Line and (Bonus Extra!) The Driver

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He had to get over the short bridge

They Don't Get to Say Everything

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The world hasn't ended. Your part in it is still ongoing. The going on world hasn't winked out. Every possibility is still out there. In there, out there, it doesn't matter where you are. The here and now claims you for its only tribe. They only want someone to tell them…

Metro Blues.

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She had no eyes that I could see. Just a pair of lips; they looked soft

Here, You Are Alive

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He doesn't tell her that he is married, and that his five year old daughter who is living at your house has a mother back in that same city

We the Wild Men

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There's a whole pack of us, men minted from hot brass and thumbtacks. Too tough for sensibility's sake.

My Plumber

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It sounds so good.

Portrait without Birds

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so Tippi has no interest

What'd You Do This Weekend?

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Sometimes your Monday morning answer to the inevitable questions don't have to be so mundane and repetitive. And sometimes they do. No one gives a shit anyway.