Most read stories

Four Noble Lies

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When Carlotta left me, I cried / into my soup. I shriveled into / harsh mathematics.

Vague Obscenities

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The next day on YouTube, 3,558,019 users watched the clip of Kate dangling next to Jay Leno's chin.

Blue Jeans and Black Leather

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I lock the last of the beer and wine doors and head back to the cash register. Our clocks are not on bar time so I only have a few minutes. I check the till. A stack of ones and three fives. Enough to break a twenty, but looking bare. The parking lot's empty. The air…

Serial Killer

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Once Mom finally came to terms with the fact that my brother was gay, she became convinced he was a serial killer. “He has all the signs,” she told me as she trimmed my hair. “Signs?” I asked, watching her in the…

Buster Keaton

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I passed Buster Keaton on the way to work this morning. He was standing, hands in pockets, at the corner of Riverview and Keil. It was the young Buster, handsome and still strong enough to pin down the scars that marked his childhood. This was the Buster

I Confess to God in the Shower

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During fifth grade, I was called / closeted queer and tall faggot.

Crown-of-thorns

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It's supposed to resemble the sea bed. These fish have never seen the outside of an aquarium and even if they had, they are reef fish, they'd probably get the bends and die if they went to the bottom of the ocean where the chances of them finding a cerami

Cinderella's Lament

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My name is Wanda McClure and I lived in the foothills of Eastern Kentucky. A small town miles off the interchange, and mostly in the middle of nowhere. I lived in a trailer. I was 52 years old.

On Tundergarth Farm

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There’s an oak tree in Hanover, New Hampshire. Twenty years old, it is still a sapling. I imagine that one day the tree will have a commanding view of the Connecticut River and Norwich, Vermont, where my mom sat in bed, crying, watching everything unfol

Throwing Pencils

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I can never tell if he’s drunk or using some sort of substance or if perhaps his brain just doesn’t fire at the pace that we have come to accept as normal.

too pissy for poetry

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feeling obligated to write/ is like feeling/ obligated to fuck.

10 Unofficial Jobs Jake Baker has Never Got Paid For

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Not that their pa really needs the suitcase; he's been coming and going for so long it doesn't matter. The suitcase's just for show. A final goodbye.

Postcard

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A tiny story, 55 words, just enough to fit on a . . .

Emoji Problems

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Our problems started with a few back and forth texts of emojis late one night. The next evening, a Friday, typically my poker night with the guys, my girlfriend came to the door.“You brought over pizza, how nice,” I said. “And, oh, gosh, look at that, a…

You Can Remain Anonymous

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a poem about an abduction in my NYC neighborhood

Arcana Magi Cross - c.1

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Ai picked up the ball and noticed the feathers. Wings unfurled and the head looked up. Staring deep into the bird’s eyes, Ai could have sworn she saw flames.

Re: “oo===D---o-}-<,” Fiction Submission

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Fake letter, 55 words.

Lips that Touch Liquor: The French 75

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The French 751 1/2 ounces of cognac1 ounce of lemon juice1 teaspoon of sugar6 ounces of champagne For the rest of that night, everything Mickey looked at appeared to have a halo of music, something nearly visible that he could almost …

The several stages of grief

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Robert was not in any sort of metaphysical or spiritual sense seeing himself, as in the scales falling from his eyes and seeing himself as he was. He was a long way from that kind of insight. He was literally seeing another himself.

Officer Friendly

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The last time Ray and I broke up, I flew my flag at half-mast. It was the kind of thing that pissed him off. He was very big on flag etiquette: how the flag should be folded, the fact that it should never touch the ground, when to fly it at half-mast, the rules regarding…

BLACKHORSE

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All the neighborhood kids waited for the school bus on a small cement slab at the bottom of the first big hill on Blackhorse Road. My mother made me scrambled egg sandwiches on wheat toast every morning for breakfast before I left for school. Then one mor

The Lovers

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I HAVE NOTHING MORE TO SAY TO YOU, she lisps, and, with this, the fissure in the man’s head reaches the bottom of his chin and the hollow head splits in two.

Flexeril and Hydrocodone and Want

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Flexeril and Hydrocodon... For my back

The Piss-Colored Man

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His open door was interpreted by the neighbor as an invitation to all but place a mirror under his nose. She demanded opportunities to fluff his pillows and coerced him into accepting gifts of food, more than he could possibly eat, and sometimes ate with

compass/ion

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a question that (never) left

Behind the (Beekeeper's) Veil

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While I tried to work calmly, internally it was a non-Zen zone. I was experiencing a major adrenalin rush.

I'd Be Happy To Date You When Hell Freezes Over -- One Single Librarian's Collection Of Online Dating Profile Turnoffs

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Dude -- I DON'T want to date your boat!

How To Find Yourself (or a reasonable facsimile)

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While I had believed that the subject had been exhausted, that the bottomless pit of the individual navel gazer had been done to death, now here arrives How To Find Yourself to show that previous literature had only scratched the surface of the belly butt

I will be a child again

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A child in a new world/ by way of the old I won’t remember.

An Argonaut Ethos

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My daddy made all these gold records on the walls, died, and left me to run BadSmack Media, even if I could only manage to run it aground.