Most read stories

Open Orchidae

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But Jana insisted to see this miracle, this antidote for the mundanity of existence.

11:11AM Eastern Standard Time:

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"Make a wish," she whispered.

Statistics (or: Walking to Work through Lexington Market)

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I avert my gaze to the crab grass pushing through broken concrete, the spent condoms, the empty vodka nips rolling at her stockinged feet...

writer’s block

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round & round this empty block again & again i go

Purveyors of Leeches

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I am a purveyor of leeches. All my friends are purveyors of leeches. We meet weekly to compare our wares.

The Bicycle

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Oh what fun they had riding that bike! What adventures! They went everywhere, in town and out.

I Don't Blame You

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for going forthe river and being blinded by its millionsof invisible fish, all sparklinglike pink enchanteddreams made of rosequartz and shaped like glassroses, who would? I fell for an illusionaftermy own fashion,but I could alwaysadmit mymistakes and catcha laugh out…

Chinchillas in the Air

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He rounds his back to stretch again, circles his arms like a ballerina, settles into the couch cushion behind him. “We made plans. Real plans. New York City. Live like bohemians. Fuck like chinchillas.”

Sweet & Sour

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Since the divorce had gone final, the matter settled once and for all, he’d taken to a masochistic bingo of sorts.

Toward a Critique of Everything Existing

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You got a lot of people, out there

Big Slide

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The screams and howls of other people's children set him on edge. But he struggled to stay cheerful. They had season passes, so the visits there cost nothing and it had consequently become a weekly tradition to go. The children had not, as far as he could

Iowa Voters

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I miss my fire from the first three races

Displacing Charles the Bald

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I try to envision long-haired men riding horses across a vast expanse, their faces blank as those of my students.

No Leg To Stand On

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He had no leg to stand on and so what could he do but fall down, which is exactly what he did.

Some Kind of Compass

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if we stare into the dark long enough, we see ourselves at some end or beginning –

A Plea for Artists to Be Activists for Women’s Rights: Don’t Explain

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When I feel the sort of longing that sneaks up on me unawares, the sort held for the wrong kind of person that can make a woman clutch her heart in the night and sullies her blood with unwanted dreams in a thinking person's landscape, I hear, too, the deep…

All the Pretty Boys

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Somewhere along the line he had also become a junkie, so he had a plastic bottle filled with methadone. I took a swig of that as we decided to jump in a cab and go to a dance club. It was a total shit-hole...

Bogdan

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He was a tenth grade / messiah, famous for acts of attrition.

A Necessary Evil

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But it was a necessary evil and one he’d made peace with, easy to do when he arrived home each day to the comforting touch of his wife, his home.

Sonnet Nought

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Miraculous tarantulas, and octopii, have many limbs akimbo, Two have you: and they are better than be kept in zoo. Thine eyne are like the marbles that my youth had held in limbo, ‘Cept even better yet, for they are fairly lashed and greeny-blue. Your…

Anaphylaxis

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The reaction had started, the hives and respiratory swelling. Maddy huffed for air, each inhalation rattling her throat louder, more hoarse.

February Fifth

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We've worked silence over / Like pros, our best work together.

Camp Atheism

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We are not alone, not as alone as we think.

nudes

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for a handful of weeks/ my father took me to/ the college of art and design/ downtown/ where i took drawing lessons./

Merry-Go-Round

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“Stop!” I shouted. “I want to get off!” The toothy horses showed me the whites of their crazy eyes. “No, no”! they chorused as they whirled around and around and around.

The Goldberg Variations

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Sorry Glenn Gould, I said, but our princess is in another castle. After that, Glenn and I went to an all night diner and ate scrambled eggs.

Model T Ford

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It lies in rusting riot of shadowed days. Flying high its emblem wings, forever stalled.

Postcard

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

Mother Died Tomorrow

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memories that no longer make sense

From the Found Notebooks of Homer's Writing Group

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Oh, also, had no idea what the whole visit to the Kingdom of the Dead was getting at. Interesting, but seems unrelated to the larger story. I'd cut it. Remember — this is a story about one man's attempt to get home. Stay focused on that.