Most recent stories

Warm Day, Virus City

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From inside the baking hot car we watched our father, nervous in his face mask and gloves, step through the wooden gate into grandma's front garden. She was waiting for him, thin and lonely behind the frilled lace curtain. She held the iPad in her left hand, and she…

far outside

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I'm staying in swinging all night Hell not just all night but every night I can possibly sink my teeth into

In the Face of Death

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She put on her hat, and walked into the back area, where she found a locker that held her name badge and a tube of chap stick.

Neo Folk Rock Trio

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“You wouldn't be undressing me with your eyes?” asks Melissa, five minutes into our date. Curve of lip revealing hint of a smile. “I'm not going to dignify that with an answer,” I reply with a grin. I hope she's being…

The Truth About Storytelling

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irretrievably we tell ourselves stories irretrievably as beaded water slides off our skin

Jangling Note

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The art of boozing can't redeem a bastard.

2 Queers on a Seaside Bench Discussing the Ocean

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An impromptu anniversary weekend up the coast.Our hotel was parallel with the highway, which was parallel with the aforementioned bench, which was parallel with a footpath, which was parallel with the shore, which was slowly eroded by the Pacific. He was sitting on the…

The Virus

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It all felt so tentative, he thought. The whole set up. Running water. Electricity. A vast network of instant communication. Food in all the stores. It was the latter that gave him the most concern. He'd never really been hungry. Even in his poorest days, in his early…


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Not as a Poet

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She's not a poet, but does she have to be? She comes to the reading to read the poems of her recently dead husband, for she made a vow: that she would read his work at an open mic. Now she is keeping her word. It's her way of keeping him alive or maybe it's his way of…

No Prada, No Burberry, No Gaston Lauvert

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Although it was unlikely that she would witness mobsters racing up or down Wabash Avenue with guns ablast, she paced behind the hotel's ground-floor glass eyeing traffic for fifteen or twenty minutes . . .


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It was a cruel question, coming on breath that stank of the grave.


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Bleeding quietly

Silent Valley

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Jerry pulls back the throttle and squints through the window of the cockpit at the little abandoned village below. “Silent Valley,” he says in a voice-over style like in the promotional videos. The quietest place in…

Forever KAP

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She mustn't...

I'm Hoping, I'm Reaching

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I'm hoping, I'm reaching, I'm scratching the sky...

Where Has All the Laughter Gone?

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The despair that comes and goes is here again I saw a woman who was holding herself As she walked past, as if a fire were about to Lunge out of her parts She was in such great need of being held The despair that comes and goes is here again

All Stories Need An Ending

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Drugs, after all, once in the system, demanded unfalteringly more drugs.


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This is not her death. This is absent-minded omniscience. This is impossible. And then again, the inside-out, implosion. And the hall was clogged with bodies; none of them hers, but who could be sure?

Wraiths of Vapor

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The rain hammers the windows, an unorthodox pattern on a sad Sunday morning.

leave the dog, take the cannoli

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he who laughs last is probably a dumbass fuck

Tuna Salad In Cat Heaven

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I ate a tuna salad sandwich for lunch.


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I'm writing you a letter played on a cherry flute. I'm sending it along through the poem's cloud of incense. The only delivery system I still hitch up for long distance throwing. I'm writing you a letter you'll probably never read. Never get.…

The Summer Of My Beautiful Idiocy

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In the summer of '68 my father persuaded me to go visit my grandparents on their farm in North Dakota. I had long hair and dressed like a French symbolist outlaw. Took the train to Minot, spent the night in a hotel (watching Your Cheatin' Heart, movie about Hank…

Neural Tones

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--"Look at us," she murmurs. "Tristan and Isolde without the adultery." --"Well, you can't have everything." --"No? I heard otherwise."

Pro and Contra in Sepia Black

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From decade to decade, editorial opinion swings and sways as to whether the fault of volubility resides chiefly with the practitioner or with the lawless company he keeps.

The Wood Hover (a parody of GM Hopkins)

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My trousers turn when her these eyesights earn is learned in light,Like limn of laugh or limbs hers — do I know her, no? — but gauzy Greyhair ravings greyscale havens of Old Jake whose floozy Wooed, ne'er raised the wood that, pencil-perched, arrests…

On A Carport in Bethlehem

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I can hear soft rain

Friends Love

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She darted out of her shadow, deftly she maneuvers through the tables and chairs and their eyes follow her.

If you see her say hello (things to never say to an ex)

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I’m sorry, who is this? I have a new phone. (Hey, Fictionauters, add your fav line!)