Most read stories

another night, another dream

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She can tell you seven things she doesn’t love about her face.

Jesus Had a Tat

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Jesus Freaks will go tat head... crowns of thorns for their noggins and so on. Christ had one too...

The Death of Narrative

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“Why, you tell a story,” one young fellow said. The expression on his face said “How gauche, how passé!”

Paper Horse

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The trouble with paper horses was not how flimsy they were when you were flying them, reigns in hand, high enough above the treetops that falling would mean more than a bruised knee.

Just a Joke

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The pizza was perfect, ingredients genuine, not artificial: crust charred slightly; cheese gooey; sauce steaming, requiring careful eating lest the mouth suffer burns. Such quality was becoming rare around town. The product in Manhattan, by and large,

John Lennon Slept Here (Or Was It Ringo?)

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Why is the ghost of John Lennon haunting a house in rural Oregon?

Dig That Girl!

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Leave your dog and your dog-eared lovers at the door. I smile at the bouncer, pay my ticket, and wink at a slasher chick. She gets pumped on heavy metal gods and Kwaito

The Sum Above

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The mandatory is not / your friend

Hot Cocoa and Bourbon

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Walking into the living room and next to the tree, he handed his wife Kathy her Minnie and plopped himself on the couch. Their three kids, two girls and the youngest a boy, tore through the wrapping paper like a pack of rabid wolves tearing through a deer

Things Worth Saving

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It felt like I was somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be, like I’d walked into a house that looked like mine, but belonged to someone else.

If This Were Baltimore

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If This Were Baltimore East A spray of change in the lilies and loose rubber, she pulled close to the wall. She smiled at the trucks, her handful of loot. Hallelujah, he said, converting. West Like 4 miles of cakes, they counted…

Girl

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The tadpoles flipped on the brown mud bottom. She dipped one out and held it near, seeing it in her belly, shaping arms and feet and a small, blond head. She set it back and stood, breasts out, arms up. The ducks in the weed, eyes hard like hungry boys, waited for bread.…

Still Life in a Bowl

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I sprinkle seaweed over the water and all twelve rise to feed. Two of them went down the hole but knew to come up. A toilet has mouths and caverns, not a bad place at all for fish.

Autumn

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The leaves are telegrams sent from the branches to the wind, saying, “it's over stop don't send kisses stop forget me.”

On " Thinking outside the box."

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Love to. Really would. …

The Astigmatism Of The Human Genome Project

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G 20/200 …

Finding the bog body

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It’s a bitch of a day, devious. It started out calm and then those monsoon showers hit. The lads legged it back to the vans for a bit of a warm sup. He was going to follow them. The rain machine-gunned the window.

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 Lost Boys

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Every day hurts, just a little, but not enough

Josephine Skinny Jeans: Chapter 2

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Sometimes I have really violent dreams where I smash Libby’s face in with a liquor bottle, a brick, a mounted boar’s head... really whatever my brain makes available to me. I always wake up satisfied.

Phenomenology

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The universe is churn-

Battle at the Bodega

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Mr. Lowell knelt down and put his face in his hands, his knees quickly covered in blood. Sobs.

Picking

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You hear the thrum of blowflies first...

How to Make an Atom Bomb While Your Wife's Away

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I rummage around to see which of our many countertop appliances might do the trick. Yogurt maker? No, I need something with more muscle. The Cuisinart--just the thing! I pick through the detachable blades—where’s the isotope shredder?

The Poem

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Riding in a pick-up-truck, the radio wailing some 'love em and leave em" country song,

From Beyond

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Someday they'll find me face-down in a puddle of ink.

Missed

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How I felt in Ireland.

Scooter and Skipper at the Roman Colosseum

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We make our way into the Colosseum–excuse me, the Prince Spaghetti Colosseum–and take in the beauty of Italy’s national pastime; sadistic cruelty to wacko religious cults.

Shopping Mall Santa

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The punk boys are my favorite. They come with an attitude, the piercings and the chains and the baggy pants with their underwear hanging out. I’m a punk myself, I tell them. The long white hair and beard? They’re real, my friend.

Taxi

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lost in a taxi cab, 4:30 am