Most read stories

Not as a Poet

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She's not a poet, but does she have to be? She comes to the reading to read the poems of her recently dead husband, for she made a vow: that she would read his work at an open mic. Now she is keeping her word. It's her way of keeping him alive or maybe it's his way of…

The Persistence of Loss

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"I packed up the rest of his things today. Irony is the fact I'm still picking up after him, despite the fact he's been gone for two weeks."

The PRIMA DONNA & THE CHAUFFEUR: A Love Story! (in full, living colour!)

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You shouldn't look at my undies! I'm gonna kill you if you look at my undies again, you goddamn bastard! :)

Narrow Results

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How would we know?

In The Arms of Veronica

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Her smile was a cliff I stood on, trying to wrangle some kind of hope from the whites of her teeth. I heard the sound of the buzzer from the door on my ward. She stood there, a sickly ash tree, each limb flailing about like she was drowning in my sea of a

Plume

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Gossamer wisps bloom in the barren air.

Crisp and New

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He told me it isn’t my fault. That my brain isn’t slowly and deliberately killing itself, not barbarically stripping away its own wiring to expose razor bursts of electricity.

'Bout Time

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China

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Your words broke meLike a china vase dropped to the floorAnd though the pieces were recoveredStuck together with love and compassionThe cracks are there for those who lookI was happy to be there, content in that placeYou wanting to be somewhere elseNever telling me where…

Writing Prompts

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If you want to be a writer, just write stuff.

A Hundred Feet

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Why I roamed these flats, choir-Like floors of a century forgivenAnd wedded in an XXL gownIs beyond us. Give me something extra, please. This Town rides in like a school bus.

Puppet X, 16

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When we lie down under the wind the trees swaying looking out over the fields soft cobweb of a brain exposed to hail exposed to snow trying to back away from it unable knowing the earth (the face it will take) our

Unclear Antecedent (Uncl./Ant.)

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When I mentioned my visit to the museum during an A.A. meeting, I wanted to know whether the framers of The Big Book had been aware of the Nazi hospital sterilization and “euthanasia” programs.

In the Carnage of Lament

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My Nashville Song

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I smell ham and biscuits I ain't eatin' Triscuits No more No more, no more Gonna get back on my Harley With my mutt named Bisquick Charlie I just ain't eatin’ Triscuits No more, no more And I heard you know the score Yeah, I know you

Now

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I'm looking for the perfect/passage, a safe, sound/jettison to now.

Necessary Subterfuge

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I'm very worried that you'll find some reason to leave me so I tend to act overly assertive and dominant due to my insecurities but I hope you understand that this is for your own good and soon you'll know how much I love you

Getting There

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Her light blue eyes fixed on a point to our left, past one of the church steeples poking out of the flat, charred ground – like a toothpick protecting a birthday cake from its cellophane ceiling; an untouched bethesda keeping the never-blue sky from crash

The Mother Kidnappers

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We kidnap mothers of all sorts: old mothers, single mothers, young mothers (rarely), but we never do it for ransom. As a society we are adamantly opposed to the use of violence. Our mission is to remove mothers from environments they are not appreciated in, whether by their…

(There) You Are(There Again)

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looking like you never once purposefully disappeared from our view. Like a river running clean through a fog's lying heart. Like standing thunder, suddenly gone solid enough, within a crazed hungry countryside, like a smile's radius, to be seen and heard …

Not Death but Decrepitude

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A bedridden ward of the state,/ warehoused in a nursing home,/ unable to drive to the liquor store/ for whiskey and cigarettes,

Junebug

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James had chosen to stay home. It had been five years since he had missed the parade(then for fever), and he thought about it all now. About the sickness and

The Kid on the Floor

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The kid on the floor couldn’t handle it...

Rocking the Oldies: A Cautionary Tale

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We didn't know what what we were reading meant. We didn't even know if we were reading it right. In fact, we suspected that we probably were not.

Five Million Yen: Chapter 65

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Zoë was stunning in a designer gown so revealing and form-fitting that only static electricity could keep it on her body.

traffic incident

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and i start screaming. i check the damage in my rearview mirror but there's nothing.

Music Boxes

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Mom would dig through one of her music boxes to pick out Saturday morning's cleaning jams. Tattered, battered Payless shoeboxes with lids ripped to shit, filled to capacity with piles of cassettes; greatest hits albums, mostly, or Time Life compilations of mid-to-late…

A Bite-Sized Piece

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But conversation, like music, is measured in beats, and he waits for more than one, and loses the moment.

Meet Your Happy-Go-Lucky Poet

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"Time is an ocean, but it ends at the shore. You may not see me tomorrow."--Bob DylanThey're writing poems, but not for me. Guess I'll write one for my own. For nobody that I know now. It's a pretty lonely world for someone who sings, not you, not with…

What’s the Dark Matter Doing to Us in the Dark?

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Will it// scare us shitless when we can finally/ draw ourselves a likeness of it?