Most read stories

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 55

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The rising sun was hidden from his eyes by the hips of the woman next to him in the bed.

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…

“Because a man has read a book does not mean he is a wise man”

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That night in the stable the three wise men were the only ones who had read books. All the rest became victims of circumstance. Characters amazing in their own right. To be written and talked about for centuries. Totally…

A Political Man

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There's a potent multimedia declaration Flying eagles starred and striped Mocking cartoon independence Where every promise shines Not every veteran's hero Chequered drug misuse Glorious public relations Concealed a…

Spring Darkness In the Age of Video

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This spring darkness is winding around my neckin the age of video, how many times I've seen her at the zoowith your eyes, as if seeing for the first timeher early morning breath, tripping your woman, your angelas she arrived on the beach when it was still too dark to see…

The Heart

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Oh, I cant stop singingThis human heart beatingWhat people say do not interest meAs much what goes on in their heartsThe heart is were they are really atNo matter what they saySome call it the IdSome call it the subconscious Some call in the willSome call it the…

Five Million Yen: Chapter 41

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Gabe took the huge spoon and loaded it with half of his mousse. He nibbled a bite off the spoon. A big smile, amplified by Gabe’s large head, filled his face and brightened the whole room.

End Game

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Where the Story LiesEverybody wants to knowwhere the story lies. Does itlie in childhood? Does it liein old age? Does it lie in anangry outburst or a stingingrebuke? Does it lie in a momentof compassion or in the recognitionof calloused selfishness? Bruisedlove or…

Little Max

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“It’s not a bad preschool. You kinda get used to it. You ever been to one before?” Little Max asked the new boy, Sam. Sam shook his head no.

Our Top Hats Blow Off While Yours Only Gets Tipped

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Our world is a prism floating through its own rainbow smeared shadows in a desperate attempt to get caught. Our lives are in the carpets, the planks, the winds. Whatever has heard us, has not believed in us enough to rescue us from our own …

BARCELONA CON AMORE

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The fog drifted in, wreathing the woman in undulate shadows as kleigs danced in wind and ships moaned. Souchet had come through the Barrio Chino to stand on the pier at the hour when dead cease their ramblings and sleep.…

the swan gliding before death

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When you awaken on the other side, you will see, I was like the swan gliding before death, and the animating power of her is willing and unavoidable. And you are itching, feeling an inextinguishable sexual desire, its nightmare ink burnt in your head, n

Blackout

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forsake glass; structure; light; the impermanence of here, or there, or you, or i.

we were not deer

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The crescent moon lies with anyone (in case you wanted to know.) And the rain – as cheaply! I don’t think anyone knows this, when they are young. When you are young, very young, you want to be included in everything. “The young that the sea took, ki

de gustibus non disputandum

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those darn kids

A Borrowed Barrow

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It was a battered, creaky, rickety old thing, this wheelbarrow. It had two wooden handles with cracks running through the wood, a fat rubber wheel and a deep tray encrusted with the mud and plaster and grout that it had transported through decades of heavy use. Based on…

Fish Tales

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Billy's days were much like his yesterdays, with little hope the ones to come would be any different.

Attacking Panic

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I'm panicking trying to think of the next line in this poem

Your dog, or hazelnut gelato - which would it be?

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It’s hard to lose. Harder than you think. I guess the ultimate question is: If I had to give up one thing, my dog, or hazelnut gelato, which would it be? I’ll tell you, between those two, it would have been easy to choose. But losing you, that was a who

blog - Feb - bad month - 42 cents

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Let’s see. February. Bad month. Made 42 cents on book sales. Sherry’s mom died. 98 years old. Holocaust survivor. Everybody’s dying all around us, it seems like. Somebody told us a portal has opened and people are making a dash for it. Hmmm. Portals. I wo

How We Handle Our Midnights

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He fingered her lighter off the table during a party hoping she would come over and talk. She was just on the other side of the coffee table but the stereo was so loud, belly or dee lite or some other early 90's dance…

Wednesday

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“Goodnight,” he said before leaving the room and shutting his bedroom door behind him. She stood in the kitchen alone now, a shot of vodka poured into a shot glass, and a bottle of coke ready to swig afterwards. This didn't make her an alcoholic…

The Tote Bag Song

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You can ask so many questions Of what’s it all about You can empty out the closets And roll the mothballs out But no one has the answers It’s all a mystery There’s a bigger picture But it’s really hard to see

Buena Vista Street

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Nostalgia is when memories turn into Gods of knowing who you were.

Sneaker Waves

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On the way inside, Peter stopped a moment on the deck and scanned the trees for the raven he and Lottie had seen at lunch. It wasn't there. Of course it wasn't there. He scanned the beach, the rocks and broken shells, the damp stinking rafts of seaweed with their rubbery…

no-name time of day

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"covered in a sheen of sweat, flowers of salt bloom on my T-shirt"

Thanks Again, Target!

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A tanka poem inspired by the CEO's apology and a 10% discount for the 40 million debit card numbers stolen at Target store since Black Friday.

Blueprint for a tale

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Remove with care, then slowly lay the string, wide well-soaked end at left-hand edge, to start, and allow to curve, to bend, to almost loop and wind its way at rest across the mottled, patterned green

Nude Ascending the Stairway to Heaven

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Whoever told us that truth-telling was so wonderful, when we can plainly see that lying is the way to get results?

Wading

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Through feeling her life story, I understood mine, more,