Most read stories

the duck discovered alive in a hut

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So this has led again to my hunger over you, the lion of all people, the other I, pertaining to voice, speech, perception. I knew right away how you rose up inside me, how I could fly near your ceiling. Right away could feel the tide, rising and swollen

Synthetic Terror

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When I wake up, I am almost drowning in a sea of styrofoam.

1978 What I Wanted

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What I wanted was to rewind the film

Three Eights

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He fingered his remaining chips and the usual nervousness tingled at his spine.

There's Always A Tree Dying Somewhere

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Bonus included.

Relationship Status

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I would use your towel,

Night Letters from the Underground

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As ghosts, they became lovers. Rodion would strum the Underwood keys like a balalaika. Lizaveta would sing.

Peeping to See if Spring has Sprung

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as if someone had spilled a bag of perfect diamonds on the world.

The Tesseracts

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From 'Excelsior' (fifth section) - a poem in 9 parts. So this is what begins at thirty? Thirty-five, And waiting. Those make love with water mildly, they That sink and skim the tide's meridian fingers: Brown swans that bob the blue orb's plumbing sheer. So this has…

Poppy Seeds

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It might have had something to do with the boy’s pet hog, which was hulking, ageless, and liked eating poppy seed muffins

Can I Have a Title Here?

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At the company luncheon, the dessert course came first. The servers were tense and unresponsive and we knew something was off. After the pudding or mousse came an undressed salad. Several minutes later came dressings — balsamic, ranch — with ladles.…

Bruegel days, nights by Bosch

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no matter where we sit or how we stare— / all parades now march away to one day.

Up at Night

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made of meat and born to breed

Quantum Mechanics

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It seems a little solipsistic/ but may indeed be evidence of God// given its mystery and caprice.

Хлебников via странников (+ two tombs from Mallarmé + one more)

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No harp now hails, / no wood sings mirth, no good hawk / swoops through the hall, no swift steed / paws dirt in the castle-yard. Woeful death / has emptied earth of an ancient race.

Broward County Love Song (flaxen from the sun)

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If the little buildings had hair the hair was as if sleeked back some and also flaxen from the sun. Men walked past there and of course women also all in the requisite wear of the world. We dashed felt pens on curb-sides writing our names in the world and way in behind…

Women With Colds and the Men Who Love Them

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“This is when things pick up with the ‘stuffies,’” says Sergeant Jim Hampy of the Vice Squad. “They lie low during the summer, then come back when cold and flu season starts.”

The Transportation of Hens

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Sixteen hundred hens / suffocated / during the collection

The Problem With Oils

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If you were a painter, and I a poet, we could have conversations about Picasso and Bukowski, and how neither one took a sober breath.

The Quiet-Minded One

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Oh, wait — loosen the ropes, you say? Sorry. Can't do that.

A Slippery Slope

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a distinct hardness that translates into solidity, and a lightness that translates into beauty, and I thought I’d find you there,

One-Nighter without a Stand, Even

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She lay down sideways on the couch with her large breasts spilled out toward my face, as I sat cross-legged on the floor, so that they were more or less right there in my face, and well, you pay attention when tits are hanging out in the open like that. S

Pimp and Circumstance

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You may want to know who wrote the book of love, but all I really want to know is who, who sprayed the dinosaurs with graffiti? Not some poser Not some Svengali Not some last minute giraffe Not someone from the all girl’s band kn

Friday Night

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Another hard week tired but make the effort

Wanna Ball?

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She came out to Laguna Beach one time, and we saw each other at this party and she asked if I wanted to “ball,” as she put it. Yes, I said immediately, because I was famished and really wanted a lot of sex because I had just finished a three month project

Suicide Watch

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It's good to be home. It's good to be home. It's very good to be home

Epicure

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Edwin was the last thing I bought. With his uneven eyes and curious leg stumps, he was a must-have. When I showed Edwin to my housemates he was hugged many times, and praised as though he was real. Knowing my housemates, Edwin may have saved some lives…

Goodbye, Me

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The racket of me left this morning

Five Stories From a Funeral

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1. Premonition “He had a premonition,” Agnes, the widow, said. “He said he was going to die.” “Ma,” Gregg said, “he always said he was going to die. He was the Fred Sanford of Central Ave.” “But this time it came…

Cocktail Hour

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The bullet went past his right ear and a little star appeared, twinkling in the mirror, a small hole in its middle, before the boom of the shot filled up the bar. He put his straight up Grey Goose martini down on the bar hard enough so th