Most read stories

Watermelon

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It was like the time we broke icicles dripping from the low eaves and brandished them like swords...

Pink Fuzzy Bunny Slippers

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I’m not sure if it’s Punkin or her pink fuzzy bunny slippers that I love.

Making it Right

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A girl stretched out on the long backseat of the Greyhound bus, her head resting on a bright pink overnight case decorated with colorful stickers announcing the places she intends to go: Paris Cairo Hong Kong Rome.

No Thanks

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But although her culinary plans are running smoothly, my mother’s mood is lethal. Look closely and you can see thin plumes of smoke escaping from her mouth and the tips of two horns peeping between the rollers on top of her head. This is not uncommon for

Coping Stones

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Cahill—Dr. Cahill to those who knew him in his small town in Maine—had decided that his screened porch should be relocated. Wouldn't it be better to winterize the current porch, adding a door at the far end which would lead to a new, smaller porch,…

Queen Isabella Eats a Pineapple and Misses the Jews

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It was Christopher who got her thinking about the Jews again. He had left the same day they did, and so all were connected in her mind, as if together somehow. She read his letters half-wondering if he would mention them, wanting to know if the Jews were

Letter to a Distant Friend

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My life is life in shape alone./ The substance leaks away like blood/ removed by the embalmer’s art.

Nurse Cratchett

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She would occasionally grant a surgical intern sexual congress.

I’m Waiting

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All carcinoma/ would be hors d’oeuvres/ for its dark appetite.

Catullus poems 16 and 97 (translations mine - adult content)

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Catullus 16 I will fuck you up the ass and then the mouth, Furius the catamite, and pederast Aurelius: you both who think, because my poems are salty, that I possess your equal lack of shame: for it's proper for a poet to be moral, no way essential for it…

Due to the volume of submissions

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Somebody pushed the automatic fuck-you button today, not the due-to-the-volume-of-submissions-we-receive button, nor the it-does-not-fit-our-editorial-needs button;

For Carol Novack

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Touching one of these special stones will bring out your own unique song.

Red Can't Even Grab a Starbucks

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I see his look, his impatient look.

Son of Goya

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I am not against the darkness / I can learn to live with restraint

Planet Crabby

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On Planet Crabby a boy met a girl and a girl met a boy but neither couple got anywhere because they dismissed their prospective partner as just plain too crabby. Alternative arrangements were unthinkable. This happened a number of times.

Obituary for a Poet Heretic

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He sat on a leather couch in the nude, blew smoke rings shaped like wild animals and picked verses out of the thick air.

Where's the show?

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Henry noted the live hips rubbing against his and thought it cool. It was not often that parts of the female anatomy made contact with his own, still mutating, parts and so there was a brief thrill of the unknown spiking along his vertebrate, small explos

Big English

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I hit the pole near Whited Avenue a year to the day.

The Tightrope Walker's Demonstration: Coming Out

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"Oh, abracadabra," she muttered.

Proust's Moustache

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My brother and I had often debated whether we could get our father to shave his moustache off, just to see if his sophistication remained intact without it.

miranda

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When I was miranda and my mother Rose, ours was a skinless intimacy. miranda in Rose's womb, captured in an essence of love, anger, frustration, fear, the overwhelming stress of Rose's life heavy syrup that kept the bond between spirit and body weak and

Broken Symmetry

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It was not until my twelfth birthday that I realised the face I saw in the mirror was not mine.

So You Want to Write a Screenplay for a Children's Movie

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For starters, someone must be dead. That’s the golden rule to remember here. And if that someone is mom, you’ve got a hit on your hands.

My Life In Five Paragraphs

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The first punch sent me flying into a Christmas tree. The second put me on the floor on my hands and knees, blood dripping from my nose.

Monet Clouds

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the slow stretches across the horizon

Shluha Vokzal'naja (Train Station Whore)

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In my room is my младенец, I mean my little one. She is hungry, Sucking dry air. My молоко, that Says milk, is not good. I can’t make.

The Boy who killed Christ

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He was on his way home from school on a dank winter afternoon when the attack came from nowhere, launched like a missile across the Gaza Strip. Suddenly he lay on his back with Jonathan Love pounding him in the face.

Danny Casolaro: 64 Stories, Part 1

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We will cut you up and feed you to the sharks.

The Love Story of Me (non-fiction and should be disqualified)

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To find myself in a straight relationship which challenges my communications skills and tries my patience while improving my status among my peers and family.

Done.

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you dug a hole inside my heart and asked me if it hurt