Most read stories

Toy

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In the store, multi-color kites dance along the ceiling. And in the costume aisle, a young mother shows her daughter how to tie her shoe. “Bunny ears, around the corner…” Glass animals shine in rows on high shelves. A boy examines lengths…

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The Collector Of Twilights

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I like to collect twilights. I fold them carefully and put them in my wallet. They fit neatly between the dollar bills that have a weird tendency to curl. This bugs me. I don't know why they do that. Something to do with the design of the wallet. But the twilights fit…

My Yoko Ono

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When one hears the siren call of artsy high school love, there’s not much one can do except go ahead and crash on the rocks, sending incense sticks and candles flying.

Black Wheat, 5

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Maybe love shouldn't exist . . . If we follow this notion there is no great need Where does it come from, this great need? . . . If (it) is in the blood how do they get it out? If not, where is it If they do not allow thought

Possible Wildlife (redux)

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This caused a problem when some raccoons, skunks and a fox were found lingering on and around the premises (separately, of course).

Rodrigo Ordonez, Boston Traffic Matador

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Ordonez gives me a look that speaks a volume–Volume 4 of the Encyclopedia Americana, Birmingham to Burlington, which includes the subject of bullfighting.

Studies for Restroom Wall Art

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Sometimes all that’s/ left is pissing

Killing Bin Laden: The Television Series

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Certain basic realities have escaped us. This is a good time to remember.

Nuptial Indemnity

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She had a body like an upside-down viola da gamba without the sound holes, frets or strings. Full at the top, narrowing at the waist, slender legs where the neck should have been.

On Being Hailed by the Former Head Cheerleader of One's Midwestern High School Whilst Crossing Boston Common

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I turned and gaped- In horror gasped-- There was no clear escape. Down Winter Street, up Park perhaps? Too late-she had me in her grasp.

ice on the bottom of the moon

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I saw ice on the bottom of the moon last night, and I always thought I knew what it meant to go without, but this is something else again. To be without you this long is exhausting, it could wither the soul to go on like this. There’s this head hanging,

Music in Berkeley

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There I saw a woman with dyed long red hair Dressed all in furs and a short tight skirt Way too young for her age And she was banging a tampon on her leg At the performance of Ramblin Jack Eliot And no one got up to throw red wine on her Ful

A Poem Written About You Because I Missed You

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what i will always remember of you is of that singular sunday / when a black lock of hair brushed against your cheek

Viva la Doglady!

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The dog catcher appeared to be trolling the neighborhood in his doggy death van.

Tangled Up in Glue

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Shhhh, my husband is trying to write...

TGIF With a Big-Balled, Yogurt-Eating Mouse

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“Why don’t you dump Mr. Fitness here and give one of us a chance?” a mouse says. “I wouldn’t fuck you for practice,” she says sharply.

I heard You Like the Back Seat, Honey

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It’s okay if you do

Ratatouille

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The body receives its embrace but / only by the anti-body.

drinking together

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In fact we were all drinking together in banquet halls (on banquet ships) with an epic poet who invented things, made things up, while dying in thorough dissipation. Washed to shore, our souls with our lives, our shadows. And storms swept them away

Black Wheat, 3

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(it) looks out at the world from behind a film (it) does not participate (it) is slow to love . . . There is the image And they say they are in the world . . . Blood does not shake their hearts They lie and take your s

notes from a dream

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Sorry to disturb. Have you seen God in here?No, not of lately, no. Shit.Why, is it urgent?Kind of. Would a cup of tea be of any help?Always. Man in the living room goes in the kitchen, space and time suddenly shift, man in dream does not know where he is, man…

The Blood of Giants

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Everything sensed is a drop of experience in the cosmos. Writing brings on the rain.

Nine Months on the Picket Line

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It has been more than three decades since I returned to work from a noon union meeting to find myself, along with about twenty others, locked out of the printing plant where we worked.

The River

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The sinuous river of your childhood. Do you remember how it slid between your young legs before winding away, making its lively and bubbly sounds. You would have made it light-headed with your games and screams. When you lingered late in the afternoon after school, and you…

Breath and Shadow

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I do not like it when the dead look back at me.

Van Gogh’s Ear

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A drunken evening, both men soused and twitchy. An argument ensues with Yellow House roommate Paul Gauguin. The two dissing each other’s work like clicking beetles

The Option Package

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he felt like ranting about cars.

our measured treads

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—and the god presiding over all / a four-faced, double-Janused clock / its equal seconds clickt away / ticking us our steps and breaths . . .

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 57

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"Ben! Ben!" yelled Monique. "Did you hear me?"