Most read stories

Here, You Cry

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Once a week the kids at school got ice cream and popsicles. You didn’t, you never had ice cream money.

Rain (a sense of her)

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The Year of the Cat

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And it is pouring cats and dogs on a California afternoonoff the corner of Sunset and Highland.Droplets of sorrow drip down our foreheadas our eyelashes bash back the rain.A woman hands us free tickets to the Merv Griffin show.The bus is about to leave without us.We take…

Masters

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"... he with much to teach, I who had much to learn..."

Wacky at Work.

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["Why can't we just look the other way ... ?"-Interpol, on the radio]

No Wind

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The candle was near the windowsill.It smelled like the musk my father used to spray before he went awayto work.Oh father, I remember you,your chocolate brown eyes,would watch the sunrisebefore breakfast;serious- so serious and waiting for something that…

George Square

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I Buchanan Street; god strums a cheap guitar. Vaginas grow wet at clashing chords. The primitive civilised. From the city square I sense false profits, zigzag philosophies. The familiar falls…

Let's Start with the End

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

Borderline

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You slipped me the key

The World is Full

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of birds. The world is full of snakes. The world isfull of mushrooms. The world is full of flies. The worldis full of bombs. Not so many trees. Not as many as you might think. The world is full of flowers. Notso many bees. The world is full of rocks. Some…

The Tertiary Stage (he probably thinks this poem is about him)

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They say his irrational outbursts and insane rantsare the results of untreated syphilis. Well, thatmakes perfect sense to me. I've always thoughtof him as a tessellated spirochete, a narcissistic chancre,festering pustule of a blistered imposthume. And whywouldn't a…

Hey, Orpheus, Don't Look Back, Dude

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Graduates, I've seen the future of this world and it has had part of its brain removed.

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.

Pain

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My pain is a black pearl hidden in a clean shell.

The Pitch

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This is what I am saying now.

Xmas Story

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The conspicuous police car was conspicuously just ahead.

The Miracle of My Father's Hat

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During the liberation, a Jew in the Russian army, asked him who had been the cruelest. My father gave them the name of the farmer who had murdered his father, and was later told the farmer's son was sent to the front and killed.

World

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Making me hate language

Musk

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The moment you realize love is never finding you everything evaporatesdroplets of dew are everywherethe sun doesn't have to penetrate a cloudfor you to feel the sunshine pulling weeds is like drinking a glass of water sweat falls down…

Everything that's ever been said about clouds

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Is not enough. There are not enoughwords enoughsighsto describe a cloud. Not enough similes,not enough metaphors.The thesauruscoughed upa feather.And what if a cloud were to beslowly moving over me on a rainy daylike a puff…

Love Song Number 277

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Tell me how magnificent my mind is

The Ego Rises

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I submit to you, your sentiencethat circulatesthru a nothing more than I,than all the moonssurrendering down their grace,than sun-bright gospels assembling deep belowthis mountainof solipsistic snow,where oxygen is lostas distance buries distanceand silent mirrorsrequire no…

Hair Growing Out of Her Tongue

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Ay Federico sit down and let me make you some Cuban cafewhile you rest those versus you left behind when you were shotat the border or some plain in Spain. Dear Federico rest, rest my friend while I tell you about my tia Ela Lee. Of course we did not call her that. We…

The Exhibit

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She had written down Bailey’s new address even though she knew that he could not stay in the same place for more than six months.

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.

All About You

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Sometimes you want to strike out at me. What is stopping you? There is no stopping you. You know I will not retaliate. Gone is all that I will be to you then.

Poem about my Penis

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I feel like writing a poem about my penis, my penis is not me although I am my penis. Sometimes dry as ginger ale. Sometimes dripping like a tap when a little plumbing is required and it is Sunday, the plumber's day off. I feel like writing a poem about my…

Wayward Souls

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Based on length it looked like a note, lacking the deeper illustration found in full-fledged letters, but also missing were condolences and considering the subject, such sympathies might have seemed appropriate: Dear Mr. and Mrs. Madison, Katie is

Past Forward

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Shivers of desire, bristles of knowing

Three o’clock in the Morning

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