Most read stories

"Don't look so sad"

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I don't want to see her again. No more pain. This one has barely healed. It hurt too much on that grey day when she said no to my longing eyes. "Don't look so sad," they used to tell me. I'm taking a different road now, I make a detour, I avoid her shop and her silhouette…

Three Things Not to Think About

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Wait until you are home alone at last. Put the dog outside. Close the cat in the room down the hall, where you can't hear her mew to be let out. Turn off the television. Switch off any devices playing music. Take the phone off the hook. Turn your cell ph

Writing prompts

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Tongs, uvulas, money. Love. But really, silence.

World

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Making me hate language

Xmas Story

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The conspicuous police car was conspicuously just ahead.

Let's Start with the End

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Let’s start with the end—death. Upbeat, huh?

Beige

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She bought a lamp that looked like a woman's leg in a fishnet stocking, you know the one, to provide warm, yellow light under her desk.

Bowling

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I had a dream about being in a vintage alley that had bowling balls with adjustable relations to gravity

My Grief, All Mine

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Your brain was connected to your feet ...

Let it Rage Until

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Let it rage. I shall not suppress you. Let your rage speak to you of the sorrow it hides, until your sadness swallows you whole.

That's All Right

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People are yelling for Little Elvis

Repetitions

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The couple sit at an outside table at McDonalds.

The Secondhand Life of Uncle Ray

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Between chapters, he trained my dog, Buster. He taught him to fetch bottle caps, roll over for no reason, and to play dead whenever someone raised their voice

among American gods

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in dark recesses of this morgue of earth / where beauty of the good does not compel, / where evil's horrors seldom do repel— / Americ gods reign o'er from birth to birth.

Flesh Alive

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Rise up, carcass—march! / Naught is new beneath the jaundiced sun: / last of the last of Louis' gold, / light is sliced through clean / beneath flecks and films of time.

This is the Best Poem You'll Ever Read

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This is the best excerpt you'll ever read.

Barely Spring

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On a business road

Leftover Author's Notes

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#281: If you make it to the end on this one, I'll send you $1,000 in cash and a bag of apples. Your choices are Granny Smith and Fuji. I can also pay you in euros if that helps.

Tales Told near Tsmebrovht-5

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“—but although we've catalogued instances of this on other planets, it seems never to've led to the global outbreak of psycho-phrenias and neuro-pathologies as those that plagued the Tiānxiàns!”

A Little *PSYCHOTIC* —

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[um ... "howza 'bout another piece of, chocolate CAKE ... ?? #tammyBAKER #tammyBAKER #AYE #AYE ]

Meeting A Praying Mantis

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A Praying Mantis clover to bright emerald green landed on my sleeve and lingered as I worked in my hay field.

Through a Sudden Window

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There is someone looking for youfor himself or her. I don't know if they'll keep on looking forever when we live our present lives so far apart from each other. You might as well be behind a glass at all times. But I still would want that lucky…

Prayers and Plastic Wrap

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The effort involved in making my chocolate chip cookies, do you know? They're not easy. No. Not easy.

Ron Vara speaks out at last.

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He’s an empty sock

Christian Bell vs. Sleep

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Christian Bell can’t sleep in/on the following: airplanes, car trips, couches, first nights in hotels, jury duty holding area, commuter train, work breakroom, tent, park bench, the ground.

We Poor Splendid to Look On

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Leave us to hide our sundials in our caves— / discard our scrolls that guide no more, / to time our nights to learn if we can grieve / —we’ve too much noise or less than we can hear . . .

Off The Cuff

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Sometimes words are carved in stone, but you won't find these in this poem

The Third Time my Father Tried to Kill Me

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They sang and clapped and stomped shod feet on hardwood floor, the smell of man sweat and bomb-making thick as perfume.

'Shit-Stained Underwear' by Dick Cheney & the Fucking Losers

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"We run a family show, here — Christ! We play Juice Newton. We play Christopher Cross."

Ode to the Tampon (In the Style of Sharon Olds)

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Today I tweeteda picture ofmyself holding atampon. Yes,you read that correctly. It's strangethat we still talk aboutperiods in hushed tonesisn't it? Halfthe population goes throughit every month but it's notsomething we talk about openly.You know when you…