Most read stories

Phantom Sister

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We wonder if this is how we tangled in our mother's womb: hands to feet to heart.

Postcard

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"Special delivery for a friend?" he asked. "Postcards are a wonderful thing. All people want to do nowadays is send e-mails. But what's better than putting a postcard on the fridge?"

The First Soliloquy of the Interior Zombie

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But do come close enough for me to hear.

Blink

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He stands straighter and walks toward the phone in the back, near the bathrooms. His wet sock slaps loudly against the tile floor. The buzz of conversation dims to whispers, barely audible above the roar of the espresso machine.

The First poem.

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Then you stopped abrupt.

Bride and Groom

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He wears an old black tux, shiny at the elbows, and his gray hair has been styled and sprayed into a fragile tornado. On his lap sits a Chihuahua wearing a bridal outfit—veil and all.

A Dispatch from an Enivironmental Lawyer Who is Trying to Grow a Mustache

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Angelina Jolie, seducer of Brad Pitt, tattooed mother of rescued orphans, and the unlikely daughter of Jon Voight who broke Billy Bob Thornton's heart, is only two blocks from me, in a travel trailer on Seventh Street, gently rousing herself from sleep.

Swimming Lessons

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The trainers looked at her and smiled and they were still one creature with four legs and two heads. The old man’s left eye moved in sync with the younger one’s right eye.

And her child

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The mother was happy, though. She was happy because she could make him some soup and then she could feed it to him in bed.

What To Believe

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Being simple like this, knowing a thing is done by doing.

World Trade Center

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I can feel the souls of those who perished here They’re still here like old kites hanging in the sky tattered, but they won’t come down or can’t come down just yet because they haven’t fulfilled their unborn promises t

Sealing off the Exits

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Jasmine invited herself over and plopped herself on my futon. "Let's fuck," she said, bluntly. "I want to."

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.

Pitcher

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3D is killing my porn career.

The Pixie

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On the bank of the stream, we take off our clothes and dash into the water.

Denmark (or On the Death of John Updike)

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The impression old Updike left on a young mind.

Cry Wolf

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"You are wolves circling, eyes burning in the dark...."

Lule of Raw

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A discussion at the homeless colony under the expressway overpass crossing the river:

After Detox

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When detox-man drives away, the windows down, the radio playing on the classic rock station (The Eagles), he thinks about moving out of town.

The Innocence of Age

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“I want to show you something pretty.” She looked at me, chin on her chest, watery brown eyes looking up. Skin tags on her eyelids made it difficult for her to look as coquettish as she wanted. She tried to flutter what was left of her eyelashes, but syr

Momo and Me

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Momo told me not to mind her, but I did. At night, after he'd tucked me in, I could hear him on the phone in the living room, talking for a long time. Early this morning he woke me up and gave me my backpack. ‘Put some clothes in here', he said. ‘We're going on a trip.'

Years After

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Years After she can go home.

Baked Beans

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mundane tradition

Boo!

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"Why didn't you tell me it was Halloween?" he asked. She shook her head. The doorbell rang.

Chairs and Mirrors

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There's a mirror in front of me and I thought it was so I could see myself, but I didn't want to see me.

My First Post-9/11 Dream: In Which I Discover Life After Death

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January 3rd EST/January 2nd PST 2002 It's 1:45 am or 10:45 pm depending on your philosophy about changing your watch when you fly. My plane is scheduled to land in San Francisco soon, but I'm completely disoriented because I've just had my first post-9/11 dream. …

How I Spent My Summer Vacation... When I Wasn't Drinking

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This is what my summer has come to: me, out of a job, aimlessly driving around the city looking for places to write, places to read, places to occupy my time.

Hand and Thumb

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Often we sit in silence and age. We are observers of dust, fashioning ourselves into antiques.

Lens

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Night fell and the photographer slept, one hand between Prue's legs.

The Nielsens (part one)

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I am one one millionth of a ratings point. A little flash of electronic blue against the wall of an otherwise unlit upstairs room at night. Walk by on the sidewalk feeling lonely, then see that harsh spark of indigo spring from the dark window above and