Most read stories

Reprise

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Federico Garcia Lopez donde carajo have you been?I had forgotten about our long talks late at night when only the sound of the cicadas accompanied us.In our silence we searched for metaphors.Mi madre se murio since you last visited.I took the buttons of all the…

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.

Harmony in D Major

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What shattering tranquility! Such a devastating hush! The flora in its element, the sky a flaccid red. Dreaming just a little, more or less awake, the people shift, capitulate, move like animated trees, dropping their leaves on pathways, on subtle …

Circus Metamorphosis

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Such pretty dogma, a voice in sleepstutters a wakefulness, clings to the Gothiclike a warrior clings to war.You wear the gown of impossibility.Before unfinished works of suns,perpetual irises, wonderful, mad,armed with such superlativesI heap praise upon your pineal…

01.24.2023.0720

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When I stopped drinking,the desire to write poems was gone.Remember this to be true.The black dog still waits in the distancenot far from the fence.I watch it and open the sliding windowsto let the winter air run amuck through my kitchen doorengulfing me with…

We Shall Not Go Unheard

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I am human, I am no piece of meat.I am (womb)an.I stand on my own two feet.I move my own arms and legs.I do not scramble eggsnor do I wait for the telephone to ringfrom possibly potential datesdesperate for my affections,none of them remotely worthy.Independent am I. …

City Fragment Thru A Fractured Lens

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I Tinseled nebulae scatter, couples dance the dance of meridians, as seekers of that dream that does not seek; but so are we, but sense everything shall become antique, that the tragic is everything. Reverent this loneliness. Giving…

Blonde Woman with Sunglasses

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Sometimes everything becomes as meaningless as a blonde woman with sunglasses. Still, there is something reassuring about the blonde woman with sunglasses, as she sits there alien to any regime, while I build my new empire of vanilla ice cream, so…

Another Band Name

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Hillary's Pantsuits

Giving Birth to the World

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Life's a contradiction.

Elephant.

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How could he care less what those below thought, when everything below him was demonstrably beneath him?

Fantasy of Hands

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Barely Spring

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On a business road

Rhapsody On The Edge Of A Knotted Finger

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Mr. Softee is Driving Me Crazy

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It is ten days before the 2024 election.So I am right now alternating between biting my cuticles and sipping a gin martini.I'm reading Virginia Woolf out in the backyard.The neighbor is having roof shingles replaced.Banging. Banging...BANGING!It is 3:34…

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.

Meditating on a Bottle of Salad Dressing

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There's a man in a Mackintosh reading Harper's Bazaar, I think many things are bizarre, I think the possibility of things not being bizarre is bizarre. Sometimes I'll have a great notion, doesn't everyone? I dreamt I fought in the civil war in the…

Feline

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The Silence in your Silence

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My Grief, All Mine

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Your brain was connected to your feet ...

The Two of You

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The new kids never even met you. They know the story of you. They will have it by heart by the second week and include the gruesome part in a letter home.

A Red We Hope Is Not Of Earth

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Twenty.

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His face is lined, lost, resigned,

The Journalist Sips His Tea

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It isn't fashion or politics, centipedes or Morgellons, but the sanctity of melons, the squeezing out of juices. Now that we are purified,addicted to the colour red, neon signs announceelectricity is dead.A tranquil crowd of strangers, anxious…

Antiphony of Sighs

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IGlasgow, its swollen bleeding face, its unrepentant eyesProud inside its operas, vain within its shames.Watch these sanctities unsound shrink into their oneness.Set these centuries alight, peer into the flames.Into their time descending the pedestrians now cease,all is…

Travel Time

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Never Read Literature When You're Drunk!

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A pale-faced manwearing a bright yellow wigonce said to me“never read literature when you're drunk"now here I am,at a window tablein the Libertine cafe,eating my words,wishing I had been a monk.Across the street loomsa gallery front,where, in large red…

The Absolute Goes Round In Circles

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I Did Not Write This

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PhD's in remorse. Babes without eyes. Presbyterian church-goers baked in their pies. Miss prim-and-propers stranded on meadows. Men rescuing cats then queuing for medals. I did not write this, I swear I did not write this. Saurian…

The Buddha on my Wooden Desk

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The Buddha on my wooden desk says all things are Chaplinesque, that all's a self-containing joke, a cube of ice in a glass of coke, a sunbeam dragged thru autumn leaves, the residue a lover leaves, a kind of vein,…