Most read stories

A Tender Button

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He looked at a man in a straw hat on YouTube and thought “that could've been me, if I'd learned to play the guitar.” He savored the wistfulness of the moment. The pluperfect always made him sad. But the conditional was almost too much to bear. Octopi were a…

The Nurse

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The detective imagined the nurse shake the old man’s breath off his coat as he walked to the bus, shuttering the teak and dust world behind him. He pulled a fingertip along a blue hallway vase, brought it to his thumb, rubbed the grit.

You Pour Vodka In Your Coffee

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I wonder if she is my real mother, if I could get one of those paternity tests and find out if she’s my real mother and if the guy she told me was my father was really my father. I can’t remember him very well, just a lot of him screaming and hollering an

Muffled

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A poem not about fog written in fog with an erasable pen.

Crosses

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Crosses sitting on the hillside

Izyum

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The fire was so fierce,so fair like an opal;the most primal burn."Death haunts these trees,"the woman said, as she held the potof beetroot soup above the fire.They spoke from the basement; living in the dark space,nerves too locked up to to look out the windowand…

I'm Going Either Way

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Will you join me kneeling in a Homegoods parking lot

Slightly Down And Off To The Left

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It was just her way. Slightly down and off to the left. Mom never looked anyone in the eye.

Stationed

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I

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

My Secret Pen Pal

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What if I let it be known that I've been enjoying a heavy correspondence with Queen Elizabeth my entire life? We began the correspondence on the very day she was coronated. February 6th, 1952. I was four years old and working as a bartender in Cheyenne, Wyoming. …

That's All Right

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People are yelling for Little Elvis

Fire Skates

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Fire skates ascended out of the Skyscraper State _________________.

THERE AIN'T NO REAL GROWN-UP'S NOWHERE NO-HOW by Leanna MacFarlane

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[Huh!]

Ghostwriters!

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(Sung to the melody of "Ghostbusters")When your prose is weakMetaphors clichésWho you gonna callGhostwriters!Characters they speakNot much to sayWho you gonna callGhostwriters!I ain't ‘fraid of no rejectionI ain't ‘fraid of no rejectionLyin' in your bedImagination soarsWho…

No New Clothes for the Empress

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Because I was not sure if the poet had said yearn or urine, I zoomed in on her mouth as she commanded the lectern...

The Morning

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Dawn is spreading its pink and blue colours over the morning. Pleasant hues, with children playing and birds chattering. A light morning, without commitments, without waves, open to promises. Mornings don't speak our language and don't make the same gestures. They speak a…

Automatically Writ between Meals

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The misspent effort reposed spontaneously, a prank worth ending with the dog letter: “GrrrrrrrR!”

An after-image, a ghost

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It was also witnessing the emergence into explicitness and clarity of everyone's expendability.

DO NOT STOP WALKING!

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There is coffee to the right and whiskey to the left.

Hide and Seek

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In September she had been wise.

Swimming with Bow Legged Women

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Sometimes, when possessed by a craving for an ornate day my very thinking becomes florid, cursive, prone to rolling my vowels – dotting my little I’s with a love heart, like an idiot who rows out in a storm.

Like Father

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Over a decade of late nights and alcohol fueled anger, and still, sometimes some image or smell would click the panic button,

No More Little Bridget

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I spend my time sitting on the back step—poison oak reddening my arm—under the eaves, waiting to escape.

walks from to walks to

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hands slide into gloves unseen / eyes disappear behind glass / the crank turns the flywheel spins: / every octave has droppt low / sub-sonic shudders within—

verses versus verses versus verses

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poetry less than poverty: / fair warning to poets, but a good sign.

Strikhedonia!

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Amen, no more nothingness now, finally the hilarity of a band of abecedarians getting drunk on whiskey and beer. We've been in this place since 11 am, now its December in January On the toilet cubicle wall are words such as Sorry and …

New Moon, Old Moon

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The moon once rose on its own Now it takes a series of Ropes and pulleys to get it up Because it’s so old And you can hear these audible groans Coming from its craters As it’s forced to listen to forgotten lovers Obsessing over old lov

NG

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So how do I know all this about Sammy, you ask? I’m getting to that...

Ticket

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Legitimacy is vorbei.