Most read stories

Stumbling Grace

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I'm not sure if my heart is breaking Or attacking Like an aged lovesick romantic with a faulty beat, I sense a valve needs replacing But only after the main artery has been sutured and made whole By a seasoned and skilled Midwest surgeon in a…

The Technicolour Hours

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The other night / I dreamt I was an astronaut

Love's Hinterlands

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Sit down at night and stare into the fire. Consider if Cupid is just another liar.

When We Knew

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That son of a bitch meant every word. Every filthy mouthful of insults that hit me was intentional and focused.

Closedness

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We are / packed in a speck of dust / adrift across the universe, / revolving an ember.

Acid Flashback #2

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I'm transfixed in Tower Records,all the CD covers dancinglike a thousand little TV screens.Your whispers a remote controlchanging those flickering images.When security asks us to leave,you drive my car as I slumpagainst the window.I close my eyes and transport usStar…

How We Open Doors

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-- as if I had / only rung the rusted bell --

Jim

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Jim twisted the skinny trunk of his body in a fast, violent jerk just as the cop grabbed the buckle of his left Harley Davidson boot. When the boot flopped off, Jim found himself sitting upright, ready to jump up and run. But then he felt the baton lock down on his…

Oh Captain, Good Captain: Part IV

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Oh Captain, Good Captain I went where you asked of me But now I'm back home And things are so clear to me The liquors been drained So my eyes have dried finally I'm seeking her out So her voice can stop haunting me When I see his face I'll…

Cha

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The windows aren't open because they are closed for winter, but Cha doesn't care. She stares through them while I stare at her.

A Story About A.Who Wants to Be An Entrepreneur

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A. wants to be an entrepreneur but cannot get with the program.

Dateline: Dumbass

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Take a ride past Larry Crane’s 'Jackpot!' recording studio — right here! in the neighborhood! where Sleater-Kinney recorded 'One Beat' and Elliott Smith 'either/or' and Sarah Dougher 'The Walls Ablaze!' woo hoo! — and the kids are singing karaoke.

The End of the Gig

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His throat had turned red after a few days of singing, and when he looked in the mirror he saw little sacs of white pus, like pimples, in the back of his mouth. “You got to pace yourself,” the big black woman who sang at the other beer garden told him.

The Choice

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The bull had flesh of a deep red that turned black where the massive muscles knotted. Colt thought of the way blood turns black when it pools too deep. There was nothing but muscle, an intricate network of coarse fibers woven tightly and wrapped in a thin

Soliloquies of the Interior Zombies

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My inner shape must be a ruin of organs,/ dead or dying. But do come close enough/ for me to hear. I need to know your story.

Buster

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I should care more.

No.

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i try/to get/up but you prove/your strength.

the plight continues

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but at least I wasn't drinking as much anymore.

Hot and Hungry.

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Hungover on the intangible ideas of a teenager in high school.

Waterstones and The Fridge

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I try to slot into order the sequence of events: the book deal that appeared and then winked away like a dying star, the white gloves and the brick through Waterstone's window; my novel lying in the shop front in a bed of glass.

American Soul

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At one time it appeared that Everyone was walking their own angel On a leash, but Now we're not that sure at all And it could come out in song That it might really be the angels Who’ve been walking us All along All this broken glass

Phantom

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There is an obstacle, as if truth has a place of its own. This is the phantom where my roommate turns off her headlights Upstate, while we’re singing: No more, No more, stay as you are.

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.

A New Woman

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George didn’t move when Cindy punched him in the nose. He just stood up and walked to the fridge, poured a glass of water and dropped a few ice cubes into the glass. The ice cracked in the glass as he walked back to the couch.

He Sure Can Play Piano with Those Giant Lobster Hands

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He sure can play piano With those giant lobster hands In his ratty raccoon coat And his old black cowboy hat His boots of Spanish leather And face like sultry weather His raspy croaking voice Picking out the words so choice They reall

no one answered

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I knocked on all the windows, on all the doors. No one answered. The television was glowing. I went around behind your house and saw it through the curtains, blowing in. (I knew you were hurting.) Knocked and tried the sliding glass door, the flimsy scr

A Man, a Market and a Mayor

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He sat on the floor and said, "I found this letter W in the jungle. It's b-b-beautiful,"

Ode To Poetry Slams

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It is a dark and stormy night, naturally We’re trying to get some sleep at a Travelodge in Eureka when I get up at 3 a.m. to write “Hard motel pillow receives snoring from neighboring room” O Thesaurus, we need another word Maybe it sh

Layover

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The concourse had become his second home, he knew it that well. His fellow passengers were the houseguests he couldn't get rid of, the workers at the restaurants and gift shops a personal…

When the Sky Was Blue

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Michael shifted impatiently as his mom steadied the gyrocycle above the parking space. A rather blank, empty smile came over her face, and Michael understood. The Proctors were everywhere and where they weren’t, there was always a Neighbor who would be h