Most read stories

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

The Last Last Ride

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You’d stay on this small roller coaster ride all summer long if you could and if I were a rich man, I would let you. Is it fun riding around in circles? You’re only nine; of course it’s fun.

deserts wept freely over you

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You had that quietness by nature (unusual in men) that I was attracted to. You were like some body of water, wide and more spiritual than anyone I knew. You could have taken me with you when you flew. I know you were more like a bird than any of the oth

Girls

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Every boy on the boardwalk stared when she and Rosa walked by, everyone of them had their sweet wet dream about the Dominguez sisters.

I Can Sing Like That

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Here lately Daddy's been talking bout' filling momma full of holes. Not like he would do it cause' he likes talkin' just to hear the words come out even if they don't mean anything to anyone but him. But just to be on the safe side I went and hid them shells cause' he's got…

Excerpt: Reykjavik: A Novel

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2. Reykjavík - 1986 …

The January Oak

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tiny banners, browned/ and wrinkled by time,

Other Brothers of American Crime, Chapter Fourteen

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An extended account of his criminal exploits for a criminal syndicate of Midwestern newspapers and radio stations hastened a change of career plans.

Drunk, There are Cymbals for Everything

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On the way back from New Jersey this afternoon, my dad kept pressing “seek” on the radio dial so he could find WBLS, which we listened to last night, also on our way back from New Jersey. I was driving last night because I wanted to and because I think my dad…

Reconciliation

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Deciding what is important from the life of a man that you haven't spoken to in ten years was a task that had seemed impossible at the outset. But now, here she stood, having done just that.

Fun With Death at the Funeral Directors Convention

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“How about licensed-character theme funerals for kids who die young?” I asked, broaching a sensitive subject. “Do you think they’re”–I hesitated–”a money maker?”

Le Petit Clown - August 9, 2002

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Bald on top and wavy curls projecting from both sides. He looked at me and his eyes rolled round and round in opposite directions. He asked, "What did you think of the play, clown hater?"

The Big Faith

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She didn’t want anybody to hear her heaving and crying. She frantically pulled as much toilet paper as possible and stuffed it into her mouth so her sobs would be silenced. Then she slid against the wall next to the toilet and landed on the concrete floor

Never

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When a woman dies too young, Say at 42, Her bones broken, Her body bruised Beyond recognition Much less repair; When she dies Thrashing In the street Amid rainbow-hued pools Of water and gasoline And blood, Anointed on a bed Of broken glass In a…

Silent Minority

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She smoothed her hair with a hand that should have been the turning pages of a cheap dime-store novel. I watched her from under my eyebrows but kept my head fixed downward, pretending to pay attention to the 6 ½ narrow stiletto heeled black alligator pumps. Not easy to do,…

Cape Charles

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"ain't hardly got a lick o' crabs today"

Arcana Magi Memorial Vol.7 - c.5

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Azure lifted her head up – her heart racing – and she closed her eyes focusing her mind.

Wipe That Smile

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One thing about eating shit:

FIREWORKS

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It's eight fifteen in the morning, my favorite time to call, and a guy named Ernie DeCampo answers the door in his work pants and a t-shirt. “Good morning, Mr.De Campo,” I say. “Do you have any fireworks in your home?” …

Custard and Blancmange

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Who here of us has not yet caught Advanced to leaden fife, The answer to our waiting What, That answered, “Such is life?” I saw a jelly man go past, Who wobbled in his strife And cried, “No stiffness that won't last …

Пушкин и Baudelaire, via странников

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—but night does not reduce me to sleep / the dragging minutes keep awake / the dark that only opens its deep . . .

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 46

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Maria Monsanto, the curator of Francesco Martinelli's Atmospheres show, stood in the middle of the third-floor gallery.

Little Ditty Down

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I got caught writing poems at the paint factory several times before they fired me I got caught in the middle of one of my best lines but can’t remember what I meant to say anymore, but I know, just know it was something real good,

Excerpt from the Novella "Iron Butterfly"

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Did I knowingly choose to enter Gloria’s garden and the warm, dark, hollow spaces she offers? Or is it something else that draws me?

Wildfire

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Those resting in clusters of bones, Cradled in ashes of what once were homes.

of love and death

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- I wish I were taller. - You also wish I never die.- What´s your point?- Santa Claus must really hate you.------ What´s the most ridiculous thing someone´s ever asked you?- Please never die. - But you promised!------ I just want to go to sleep, I´m…

Head

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Z. takes lewd/suggestions/with little blinks/of his everlasting/eyelashes.

they are light

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They are light, their souls, yours among them. And women who seduce you should understand that, and use their bodies carefully, so that you are unharmed by the night that is filled with them. The beautiful youth who would turn their flower as if you wer

This Is Not Your Poetry

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Your begging hands are hacking me up again like garden claws that know not the difference between a delicate solar powered flower and a tightening choke of killing weeds.It's not like it's even mine to keep-- like a legal document I'd…

How Filthy the Human Mouth

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When he saw me, he jumped faster and faster, wild like something rabid.