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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.

How to Remember Important Things

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Save the whales. Save the dolphins. Save the bored housewives. Save my hands, so often cupped over the sorrow in being alive. Save the beautiful made-up cherries of delight I feel everywhere in your presence. Save the sprawling…

Pink

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The midsummer sky is black above us when I hear Dad say my name, quiet like I’ve never heard before. I let my hands drop away from my face and crawl towards him.

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.

another night, another dream

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

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.

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

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.…

Major Chaos

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Major Chaos came here one of those hot days. I was washing the floor, wearing old clothes, when he knocked on my door. Since I don’t have many visits, I let him in. At first, he seemed like a soldier, but upon reflection I realized he was a big green fr

Our Story in Ten Photographs

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1. The ghost that photographs my wife and me has a peculiar sense of lighting. In this one, we are sitting at the kitchen table of our old apartment. The table is made of glass. There is nothing on the table except our elbows. She has lowered her head between her…

Breaking Eggs

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You want to read, you know where to click.

Woman Gives Birth At Cafe, Refuses To Leave Until Latte Finished

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There was a man crying, walking his dog and a woman drove by on a flat tire They brought coffee to the tables in large glasses on white saucers There’d be long silver spoons with which to stir in strong

Hemera Rises

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The woods. They say don’t wander too far into the woods, where those ghosts can’t hear you and the moonlight won’t trace you a path. In the black crowd of trees there’s something waiting. Don’t go to the where the siren is singing...

On Writing

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it's the very words that are the problem

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?

The Caveman Attends the Symphony Without His Club

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“Would you consider renewing for the next season?” “We’re not interested.” “Can I ask you why?” I considered my reply. I was thinking of mincing my words. The man on the other end of the line seemed, how should I put this, somewhat s

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…

Crystal Tips

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by the time he's moves onto knives, she has appeared in next door's window: sliver of nut-pale belly, fingers wet with suds, nails painted bright as glitterballs.

The Boy from Thuringia

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“The Boy from Thuringia” is part of a series of stories collectively called The History of Adoption. In it, a middle-aged man sets out rather obsessively to write a comprehensive history of the adopted child. In his attempts to finally begin this im

Book Killer

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Sometimes after bookbinding for a few hours at the hand-sewing table, Jillie would, after scraping her knife too roughly over the glue of an old book's spine, feel not like a resurrector of literature, as she should, but a killer. Not a calculating or

Henry and the Hungry Hamper

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  Henry's had a messy day. He splashed, he jumped, he rolled and played. He wrote in books, dressed up the dog, And on the wall he drew a frog. He's wearing dinner, seconds too, And for dessert some fruity goo. It's come to live on…

This Thing

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I'm sure someone somewhere must havefelt something like it before. Imean I've never been able tohave this kind of deep longing asif you might want to forget everythingyou know. I always figured that funny stuff onlyhappened to folks in a foreignfilm. Not to some guy…

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.

From Beyond

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

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.”

Significant Things

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“This is a Kneeling Bus.” They’re all kneeling buses, why do they even have to say that? Almost every person gets off in the front now when it says it even says right on the bus to please move to the back and exit from the rear side doors. I hate having t

Stupid's Rising Up

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Stupid's rising up, I see. Melting all the intellect. I before E, except after C, but that's not how the alphabet goes.

My House In The Middle Of The Ocean

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I built a house in the middle of the ocean. I used sunlight for nails. Wind for wood. Stars for chandeliers, the moon for a doorknob.

Breathless

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I sit down next to a youngster on the couch. “Would you like to see?” she asks. “See what?” I reply....