Most read stories

The Incredible Distance Between Sleeping and Waking

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She has almost-black eyes and auburn hair and round brown nipples that are always taut – as though in anticipation. I don’t know what color auburn is. I just know that’s the word that comes to mind when I look at her hair. She calls herself Mama Legb

Fill In the Void

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I’m not in the habit of just hanging out on the corner handing out “free stuff,” you know. I figured it was going to cost you. But I was wrong. It cost me instead. You can only float near the ceiling when you’ve become an emptied vessel. No hope or

Handiwork

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People speak of wordsmiths, as if they hammer text into shape; smelting down clunky prose, recasting from white-hot ink.

Retribution

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There could be a Reagan circle/ with a Maggie Thatcher suite.

the new path

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once he had planted Lucille things changed./his emptiness rivalled the hollow grave/dug for her . . .

The Audacity of My Ass

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But then there were car windows bashed out on both sides Glass on the ground like Kristallnacht

Ode to Tomorrow

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If luscious lips lusted for love lost, they wouldn't be mine.

Uncertainty Principle

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Aleister Crowley walks in and all of a sudden the bar's filled with angels and demons and pagan things. Wood nymphs and stuff like that. Wittgenstein, to his credit, keeps cool. He just stands over there next to the dart machine, pointing at things and naming them. Like…

The Bachelor Pad

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Someone had scrawled her on the walls.

Swings

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My backyard was first Grass tickling my bare feet Skipping along the bottoms of my toes. I broke my arm there; I always hurt myself Swinging. The fair was next, grownup kids Having adult fun Eating carnival food and drinking grownup things When no one was looking. …

Annabelle

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Jess threw her books on the bed then grabbed a notebook from a shelf and slammed it onto a writing table. It made a hard pop gunshot sound. Flinging open the book, a page tore. Her diaries were named Annabelle. It was with a blue felt tip pen that she wrote: …

WE SHOULDN'T HAVE BOUGHT THE FIREWORKS

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My chin is half-eaten. My chest is gone. There is a rhythm to how each flame licks me. Like how you used to in the mornings before work. Before the coffee. Before the toaster. Before a rose clenched between your teeth and dancing.

Who you pretended to be

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Who You Pretended To Be I only appeared to belong to my mother --Jane Kenyon I almost died when Ulysses sailed leaving behind the dowager queen complaining of processed sugar as Grandfather's limousine tooled to Saks to browse brassieres…

Cockroaches From Heaven

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Cockroaches may be falling through the holes in the floorboards of heaven, but we will not be disturbed. We are agents, free and clear, even if a little bit mean. I want to quit worrying about money, but the angels upstairs won’t let me. The

Good (Enough)

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Maybe I am good

It Can Hold Us All

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Look out for rotten ice. If you fall in, pull yourself out like a seal. Take off all your clothes and get to shelter.

(There) You Are(There Again)

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looking like you never once purposefully disappeared from our view. Like a river running clean through a fog's lying heart. Like standing thunder, suddenly gone solid enough, within a crazed hungry countryside, like a smile's radius, to be seen and heard …

For You, For Me

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...mark every buoy...

Champagne Velvet

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“So he rounds up three bums and says he'll buy 'em a case of beer if they’ll do a job for him. All they have to do is ride around in a car for his campaign. Of course they all said yes.”

Awesome!

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I’ve really had it up to here with people who say “awesome” of things that don’t inspire awe.

Frostproof Suite: Clown Car

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My job was take the falls, act the dope, finish at the wrong end of the slap stick for the blow off. I was Auguste, the fool; I drove the clown car.

An Exquisite Fall From Grace

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He lay on a wooden pallet, which he had placed inside a cardboard box that might have once held a refrigerator. Except the box was labeled “Robotic Endoscopic Surgery System.” His head was propped on a gym bag that contained all his possessions. Outside, it…

Stimulating the Dead

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“So–you can get a stimulus check even if you’re dead?” I asked. “hell man–in chicago you can vote if you’re dead. i’ve tried to stay active politically.”

Chinese farmer gets life in prison for evading highway tolls

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Bring me your poor, your tired, your hungry anyone skilled at evading highway tolls Bring me your escape artists dangling upside down in a straight-jacket from the sides of tall buildings Don’t let them starve in the prisons of the world Bri

I spend my free time writing epitaphs

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I invented a game called Church & State

I'm So Glad

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The boy had decided he needed to sell his music equipment—the p.a. system, his amp, his compact organ. His band had broken up and wasn’t going to get back together. He was leaving town at the end of the summer, to where exactly he didn’t know yet.

Art Survives

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Forget the salt erasure of Carthage,/ all the Meso-American artifacts/ smelted to float the Armada

Let Me Drown

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Our local low rent ice-based superhero said he’d had enough and would check back in early spring.

THE ROOF NEEDS REPAIRED & ALL YOU CAN THINK OF IS RAIN, RAIN, RAIN

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no, you said. like how the moon strangles with the side we can't see.

Pointing Fingers.

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She burns her wrists with menthols; she says it's too much effort to cut them. Besides, it's more fun.