Most recent stories

Too Much Info

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  It wasn't meant for our brains to take in so much information, I hear someone say on NPR The information age, seems to be suited for me, I can't get enough of it, it floods my mind and nerves, Reading wikipedia and blogs for hours and You tube   And im…

Uncle Moscow

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He asked me to bury him in Vegas. Instead, I had him cremated in Trenton.

The Ferry

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The two of them stood at the long end of a pier that cut sharp into an L 25 feet out into the river. It was an old wooden pier that relished in its every crack and splinter regardless of the fresh coat of white paint that melted lazily over the rotting bo

The Garage Sale

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She excelled at plowing forward. He excelled at staying in one place. Eventually the distances got too great and she put an ocean between them.

New Routine

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It was time to leave.

Ohio Man Charged with Drunken Driving on Motorized Barstool

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A man in Watchupecka, OH, was charged Wednesday night with drunken driving in heavy traffic in downtown Watchupecka when he failed to stop for a red light.

Matisse, in the Jardin des Tuileries, 1904

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The World's Worst Mime stood there next to the iron carousel, portraying something, and the crowd understood none of it, except that whatever thing he was trying to portray was not being portrayed well at all.

The Garden of Earthly Delights

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When I come to suck fresh raspberries' juice from your hair pressing the clasp of my mouth's purse on the oyster of your ear;

Life Without a Heart

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isn't so hard to imagine if you can just squint through the minutes like a good McGoo, slog through the headline happy seasons and sleep at it most of the day. It only hurts real bad whenever you try to carry off a roaring laughter…

The Writer and the Talker

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"I’ve always wanted to write a novel. Like Catch-22, something off-beat that would start by word-of-mouth, you know, and become an underground classic."

Second verse, same as the first

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Most people assume I’m gay, and have assumed I’m gay since I was in fifth grade. Maybe sooner. Maybe fifth grade is just my first memory of recognizing what other people believed true about me. But coming out as a gay man in 1987, when I was in fifth gra

THE LIFE-GIVING DROP by Ivan Turgenev

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The child began to think only of the reason for being there in the cave, summoned up patience and continued to wait...

Terror of Nod

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onward, soldier

Locust Valley Breakdown

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The specialist had kept what he'd taken out of Sue May. I made an appointment with him and was shown it floating in a jar of clean unguent.

Time Capsule

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He pours another shot and says: Then I buried it in the yard. The time capsule I mean. You have to plug it in to see. I wonder if they’ll know.

Thick Air

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The only thoughts that come are old ones that are so needy they keep circling through for attention

Ready

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Kudzu obscures the gate where jasmine bloomed last summer.

The Little Engine That Shouldn't (a political metaphor)

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The rings on the engine Not designed for race gas Did allow for some seepage Did allow fuel to pass The fumes were quite powerful To the pan they did charge The spark was quite forceful The explosion was large

The Kid on the Floor

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The kid on the floor couldn’t handle it...

Salmon of Wisdom (novel excerpt, Jimmy Gollihue)

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Honey, you eat this salmon, now

Trio of Found Poems

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Paper Bird, Devotchka, TV On The Radio

Jared Sampson's Mom

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She died in a car crash yesterday. She was driving down Hawthorne, past the strip mall with the Benihana’s, when her ’05 Corolla unaccountably careened over the center meridian and into oncoming traffic.

First Contact

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... her heart went kathump kathump and as the sun warmed the morning Patti once again melted into her normal condition of slightly dazed trance with not a care in the world but the health of her African violets that she now tended to on the window

Unwritten

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‘I love you' said the man at the book signing. He was one of the last. The shop was closing. The staff were starting to turn off the lights. She was sitting in the glow of a table lamp with her latest novel in stacks around her.

Yellow

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Slipshod shoes were the first sign of a meltdown. Sometimes she could see it coming. A prickly gentleman washing his clothes on a Thursday afternoon. One week he’s fine. Nothing wrong with owning a sour face. The next Thursday, his shoes don’t match.

My Hero

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Anyway, without Mr. Little, my life would have been much more difficult after my father was arrested. It was difficult enough as it was. Mr. Little was my personal hero at a time in my life when I had very few people that I could look up to. The funny

Archaeological Treasures Yet to Come

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The museum’s catalog description changed much less than the painting over those years. He wasn’t curator-in-chief of catalog descriptions, however, that task went to a curator arriving by another door.

Dramarama and Acid Wash Jeans

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Looking down you wonder, when did I eat pineapple? and Am I really this awesome or am I a facsimile of something that really sucks, even if it's that 'it's so bad it's good' kind of thing? Nope, it's just bad.

Pink Slip For Mitt's Mutt

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(Recently unearthed from a “Lost Luggage” travel trunk abandoned in a train station in Salt Lake City, Utah) Dear Seamus: Boy, we sure did enjoy having you as a member of our family all those years. I would have to say you…

Sara and the Machines of Loving Grace

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I, like Sara, am the last of my kind still activated. I am a Machine of Loving Grace.