Most read stories

Shopping Mall Santa

20662066 views22 comments11 fav

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.

'Bout Apples

20652065 views11 comment22 favs

Sawyer walked toward the lone house with the sentinel trees. Behind him there were no tracks in the snow.

Gathering

20652065 views1212 comments88 favs

In the office supply store on Union, Jeremy, the stock boy, shelves tubs of rubber bands. Tubs with an easy-access pop-top and a see-through container. If Hendy saw these tubs, she would think these particular rubber bands resembled anorexic gummy-worms,

Girma Dali - Chapter 2

20652065 views00 comments00 favs

This is Chapter 2 of my serialzied novel Girma Dali. The title character reflects upon his youth and the young boy, Benga, who mentored him into adolescence.

Arcade Encounter

20652065 views66 comments55 favs

Looking over the crowd in the arcade is like looking over a crowd of zombies.

Bookends of a Life: I

20642064 views1717 comments77 favs

You have transformed me into an aimless, sleepless wraith...

Loose

20642064 views2121 comments1313 favs

pretty music

Miguel's Fence

20642064 views99 comments88 favs

Miguel's mom told everyone if you pressed your ear against the knot, Jesus would tell you special secrets.

Playing Possum

20642064 views22 comments22 favs

"You're going to have to call me 'dead eye' after I get this possum."

two dudes talking

20642064 views22 comments11 fav

“What about this shirt?” “I didn't know Gap had an ‘approaching middle age pimp' department.” “So… no?” “Yeah. No.” “Approaching middle age?” “So…” “So?” “Soooooo…”…

Things Worth Saving

20642064 views1919 comments1717 favs

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.

Jelly Doughnuts (from The New Yorker)

20642064 views44 comments33 favs

Simmi's only been in New York three weeks, but the second night she was here Buck took her to a coffee place he knew, and now Simmi makes sure he takes her there every night...

What Remains II

20632063 views22 comments00 favs

Duh. It’s all the same sky. Instead I nod, and don’t say anything.

DEFILEMENT OUTSIDE OF HEAVEN, TWO MILES

20632063 views00 comments00 favs

The road that passed through the swamp near where the cemetery stood, that is, the road that passed by the cemetery that stood near where the swamp lay—but no, that’s not the case, because that’s not the same road. If I’d been on THAT road—

The Boy from Thuringia

20632063 views22 comments11 fav

“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

Roadside Daisies

20632063 views22 comments00 favs

The phone rang. Pete wiped his heavy eyes and squinted so he could see. He looked at the clock. It was five o’clock in the morning. He rolled over and tucked his head under his pillow. The phone rang again. He ignored it. It rang again. He picked up.

Contract Love

20632063 views55 comments44 favs

“If you guys ever get back together, I’d make him sign a contract.” I smiled, but cautioned, “Not sure that would work.” She answered with emphatic confidence, “You haven’t seen how good I am at writing contracts!"

Blind

20632063 views55 comments44 favs

In this coaly no-time/ strewn with fallen stars,/ you are a roaming panther/ and I am a tangle of snakes.

Test Results

20622062 views22 comments11 fav

Six weeks, four thousand dollars, and twelve hundred miles later, I figured I was done with the cleansing process.

Hag Masses

20622062 views88 comments66 favs

Five poets were beheaded that day, their heads rolled off the scaffold to the dirt and faced skywards; the heads were smiling

Searching for Samuel Beckett

20622062 views4242 comments1818 favs

At the Cimitiere Montparnasse he offers the girl his raincoat. I'm searching for Samuel Beckett, he says, and holds an umbrella over her as she consults her map. We're close, she says, pointing. I'll go with you. Then we can visit Simone de Beauvoir. My name is Scarlet.…

Opening Line

20622062 views44 comments33 favs

I cannot read one more award winning novel by a female Asian author about the atrocities committed against their childhood, she thought. Then she sat down with her trusty yellow pad and Papermate fineline to write the next lyrical story of a female Asian writer and the…

The Lateness of the Night Lies Dreaming

20622062 views66 comments33 favs

Your finger quivers as it writes Upon me words in water, Words I cannot read nor drink But feel them as you drink Them with your tongue

The Marriott Hotel, Downtown Brooklyn

20622062 views77 comments44 favs

There was a time when she could quell the loathing that Fred inspired in her. She could force it down. Back then, for instance, when they’d been in counseling, the ball of hatred had only been a little, overripe orange - squishy and occasionally mushed

Three New Poems

20622062 views99 comments88 favs

Letter(s)The sky set itself on fire, butit really didn't make a whole lot of difference. Birdsknew not to worry any more thanusual. Trees thought and made the mostof their landscapes as a way ofbeing modern and yet timeless. It's onlypeople who suffer from too much…

Incompetent Translation: Le Bateau ivre

20612061 views1414 comments1212 favs

At five o’clock in the afternoon, at five o’clock / in the afternoon

Golden

20612061 views66 comments33 favs

No flinch, no stretch, no letting the cook get all golden about the chopping block.

Crystal Tips

20612061 views44 comments44 favs

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.

Postcard

20612061 views33 comments11 fav

"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 Brazen Bull

20612061 views99 comments44 favs

History is replete with brutally imaginative techniques of torture and execution, but I am the only death machine that doubles as a musical instrument.