Most read stories

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.

goddess of personified flesh

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And yes, I may be the goddess of personified flesh, the same little goddess of curled locks, of little sleep, on fire, ablaze. With my sudden weakness, stoppage of breath, pulse cut short, leaving the wrist. And you of stolen, fraudulent face, troub

Lost and Found

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Adrienne found her calling in Africa feeding poor children or whatever the fuck you do when you're in the Peace Corps.

Whenever I am

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alone and soaring in your eyesanother new journey for mebegins; my lifewants to make sense ofitself only for you, goingdeeper, hand youthe keys to that kingdom'srare maps and say,here,"fly, dream, fall to love'slake." You deserve it all.I swear…

He's So Pretty I'd Dump My Boyfriend For Him

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I remember when we first met, telling my friends, He’s so pretty I’d dump my boyfriend for him. I remember driving all around Elmhurst looking for parking. We sat in the car eating figs and popcorn. We tried to throw the fig pits or stumps, or wh

Advice from the Receptionist

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The president is truculent today.

fastened together in silks in the Chicago night

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I know our hearts were fastened together in silks in the Chicago night. In the great nurturing night, you were the (real) first. Yoked together, you were the first god to have complete leave of my body, for an hour, for all time, you were the first.

Thank You Economy

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It started out small: just a cup of coffee, purchased, and an extra one that I gave away.

The words you are known by: To Mitt Romney on the eve of his national convention, a cento

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I'll tell you what, Rick, ten-thousand bucks? [But] let Detroit go bankrupt. I'm running for office for Pete's sake,

The poplar

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Sometimes we hurt ourselves, we scratch ourselves, we bleed — for a simple joy... All I wanted to do was to find the poplar again — the tree of my young arms, of my budding breasts. My fingers used to circle around its bold and vigorous waist, but in the…

Work of a Reader

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Then it gets worse—this reading of books—I go to the café and can only read a minimalist there, one crouton at a time.

AND I WILL REMAIN AS CAUTIOUS AS EVER

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We’re on the phone dead battery & I want this to last forever. The last thing I want to do is make decisions.

de gustibus non disputandum

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those darn kids

The Vegetable Man

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He'd hug us against our wishes when we tried to get a better look at his cart, his odor a mix of sweet and sour and stink.

TOUR GUIDES (Granada Studios 1989)

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Dancers, dunces and brides-to-be

Saturdays with Satan

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You know what's wrong with Hell these days? Do ya? It's too fucking corporate. Too commercial.

My Space

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Hey, can you move over and let me sit down here? In German you would use Raum to mean room, or for an area, a region or something like that. There is another word for “room,” as in a room in a house, but you can't use either of those words to ask someone

Sic Transit

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He was that famous actor—now famously forgotten—most renowned for his exits. He could burst through an in or out door with the best of them. Better than the best of them; he was the best of them. With the subtlety of his often noisy art he could…

luncheon on the grass

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I had a dream, I remember, where I am in this painting, Luncheon on the Grass. My dress was thrown off and the picnic basket, filled with bread and fruit, is spilled out upon it, and I am sitting nude on my underclothing, with two gentlemen fully dresse

Pilot Wannabe

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We were both looking up at the rainy sky, while the big jet barely moved through the clouds, coming in for a landing at Oakland between storms. It sort of reminded me of 911, the way they just seemed to hover above us, barely moving, like they were poss

Dubious Appetite

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Looking back now, examining from a distance the sequence of events I failed to connect as anything beyond queer happenstance...

A Way of Place

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There are people walking, not knowing where they are, a way to peace is just that-- a place to go.

Sonnets III-VI (The Ishtar Sonnets)

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With porc’lain hand she writes thy thankless verse/ Like Proserpina, strapped to eb’ny throne,/ Eternally paying the six-month purse/ For hunger once soothed with but seeds alone.

One Sentence

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The summer we were fourteen we snuck out of our houses...

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

Life Sentence

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“I believe it is some form of primitive recreation with a board and wheels,” the one and a half eyed orange blob said with an Australian accent.

Someday

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and as in real life, occasionally sneezed on.

Seventy

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She was a rich widow who lived down the street.

Monitor

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In the darkness I lay waiting for the day to dissipate then I follow the footfalls that follow

Song Without Wonder

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What I’ve got is priceless, but no one wants it. Hmmm. I wonder if I can give it away, or have to haul it to the dump? What I have is priceless. Priceless. What I have is priceless, but no one wants it.