Most read stories

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…

Clockwhipped

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I now felt prepared to waltz under a K bullet that hits a stucco brick above the tropical hibiscus.

What I Do

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I display feelings of great witness and clasp the rails and try not to fall. I try to fit the social rhythms of the garden party. I do not succeed. I pack my bags and go.

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…

After coming back from nowhere,

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you notice some of what you need― a pressure of something you've intended, somewhere without a place,

A Return to Silence

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Instead we dunked the men in vats of grease and boiling water. Instead we tore apart the books from which they emerged. Instead we found the graves of their mothers and detonated bombs.

Voice of the Past

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You are about to experience a voice from the past. Here we go ... jet back to about 1964. I remember you with the same beard (just a different color!) and slightly longer hair. I remember drinking lots of beer and wine in your basement with Shel

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

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...

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

I fell in love with jackal face

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As we stood there, my hair slung over his shoulder like uncooked pizza dough, I updated my wish.

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.

Newborn Baby App — Buyer Beware!

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They first hook you in with how cute they are. And they are cute, do not get me wrong. I'm not, nor have I ever been, fundamentally against babies—until now. As the first reviewer of this oh-so-wonderful app, my intention is not to…

The Parallel World of the Tango

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I dreamed I might one day become the numero uno tango singer in Boston.

A Journal of the Plague Year, Day 193

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More thoughts on denial...

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…

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

Won’t You Be My Neighbor

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I passed the Crouching Tiger Qui Gong dojojo with Suntory Dagdibolbishon.

Notes

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just want to write a music note rap my hands all over my throat jump into the city to stay afloat gotta build me a damn big boat

Reflector

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I circled about six times - mesmerized by the sign that said you needed socks. Just passing through it said - As I made my third pass I thought - well, aren't we all.You looked cold. Fragile. And younger than the wrinkles that engulfed your hands, neck…

This is Not an Indie Movie

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This is not an indie movie about love and happiness and Al Green songs redone by actresses pretending to be songwriters.

Of Poems About Figs and Farts

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When Prince Rainier III asked an expert whether there was a literature of Monaco, her research produced only a suggestive ode to a fig and a poem about a fart.

Knowing

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I come here, to this very spot for a reason. Imagine — the illusion of knowing what is and is not. The contentment drops taste — one could suppose — like that.

A Flap and a Flutter from a Belfry

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After our visit to Phoenix and following our inspection of the Grand Canyon, our seminary octet continued its twelve-thousand mile sojourn across the country as a quintet.

Rest In Peace

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Gone he is in his designated place Just resting in peace while I barely move on

Semiotics For Sale

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Buy random DNA on the open market and drive a poisoned stake into the heart of darkness.

First Law Blues

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Energy is constant though it may manifest/ as dust motes atop the housing of your monitor/ and in the fibers of the filter of your fan coil unit

Falling

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She lets the book drop through her fingers to the floor and stares straight ahead watching the red lights streak by in the darkness. The train rocks her away from the seat and back; she rolls her spine along the plastic to absorb the motion, taking it away from…

Intensive Seminar Helps Cat Poets Sharpen Their Claws

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With a notch in his ear from an honor-mad fight And a tail that is shorter than at last sunlight.

Jack and Jane

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I wonder if the Pleiadians are out there. Jack, what are you talking about? said Jane. The Pleiadians. I said I wondered if they were out there. You did go to special school, didn't you? No, said Jack, I didn't. I don't know why you always tell people that. …