Most recent stories

Yes, the End Time Is Near

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We’ll just choke on all our shit

Lapses

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The body does what a body must

femme fatale

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her knife cleaves a single red hair

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 9

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Michiko stood in front of Steinway Hall on West 57th Street.

The Winds of Time

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Purple fades. Orange into a deeper blue...The deepest blue ever known.

Duration and Frequency

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for spirits and demons have no life/ but what imagination gives

Handy in a Denny's Parking Lot

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A compliment is candy to the heartbroken, oxygen to a suffocating flame. The best hunter picks his prey carefully, selecting his line like an archer pulling an arrow from a quiver, quickly and efficiently, then flick! the line cuts through the air and…

Harmony in D Major

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What shattering tranquility! Such a devastating hush! The flora in its element, the sky a flaccid red. Dreaming just a little, more or less awake, the people shift, capitulate, move like animated trees, dropping their leaves on pathways, on subtle …

After Appomattox

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The renegade states- Virginia, Georgia,/ Texas, and the rest- should have lost their names

The bridge

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as long as you have some snacks up there I can be brave

Baby Carrot

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In my choppings, I come across a tiny carrot amidst the baby carrots. The runt if you will.

Remedy

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the last, best// analgesic--/ guaranteed

The Actual Poets

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And here’s a picture of you at the end of the line to the great toilet of fiction, waiting to relieve yourself, quick before the poetry gets to you. Or worse, the actual poets.

Just Stopped In For A Raspberry Slushie

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Certain disorders lend themselves to poetics.

Poem in A Dead Language Only I Understand, Translated for You

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I used to be a poet, you know. / Better, in many respects, than you.

Republican Presidential Candidates Haiku

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If they were drowning,

wrong way home

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this little piggy

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 8

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—So much for a cocktail at the tender hour of twilight, he told the empty beer bottle.

The Sweetheart of Wands

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I One only I desire, no freedom binds or blinds.Not an icebox mind of fire, more than a myth that is a myth, …

Black Sweater

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A small poem about incipient insanity

Portrait without Birds

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so Tippi has no interest

Excelsior - A poem in 9 parts (Post 5 of 5)

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VIII. Towards Affinities, Beyond My love, since I saw you last, since before we reached the chamber, I cannot count the quasars which have passed, but there still gleams Time, Like a memory of a lost event unwitnessed, and this illusion Carried…

Pot or Marijuana

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Every six weeks or so, he and I would argue. I would argue. He would listen. He raised me twenty-five cents each time. I suppose that is a bad habit for me to have gotten into—to get pissed about rates and to fight to get a raise.

3 Poems and a Seething Pen

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it’s more about how all those words look around each other. he’s more interested in the shape of things, than the reality....

Little Ditty Down

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I got caught writing poems at the paint factory several times before they fired me I got caught in the middle of one of my best lines but can’t remember what I meant to say anymore, but I know, just know it was something real good,

Bear Costume

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He ran over our elderly neighbor Lenard, but not on purpose, or at least not as far as we could tell; there wasn't any yelling, I mean, and he didn't look happy when he got out of the car, though who could really tell through a bear costume.

Birding

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Even mockingbirds are scarce;

Receding Haiku

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love weaves a perforated web between the spikes of longing

tetanus

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no one cried

Be Afraid

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Everything conspires to kill you: