Most recent stories

At the Fair

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You're on the Ferris wheel, and the wind is blowing just a little bit, and the sky is invisible behind a wash of white clouds, and your little yellow box tips when you look down, down to the fairway swinging. In the boxes below grandmothers are shrieking …

Prowl Car

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Mischief / has marked the bone marauders for doom.

Tuscaloosa

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a Ferris wheel gently rocks its last riders then dumps them to the ground.

Numb And Number

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He looked up as he reached the intersection, and crossed as it cleared. His head was down again as he walked toward his car, which was parked beside a schoolyard, where junior high students were involved in an after-school game of touch football. He smi

The Forest is Falling

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another paper saving 55er

From Below

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I can hear the echoes clearly. They are distinct and crisp, almost as though they're all on exact trajectories to me from their final bounce, without any interference. Each sound, while unintelligible, seems to fit perfectly and expectantly into my ears

I Hate Your Favorite Band

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He (after learning of my former occupation as a record store owner): So, what is your favorite band of all time?

Childish

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woke up to the sound of a diesel looked out the window to see i’m not home outta bed to see if you had called not a damn thing on my phone

Flowers for Our Dead Lovers

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We brought flowers for our dead lovers

Road Kill

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We looked out into the darkness and then at our children. The dark of the forest was feeding them with ideas, filling their imaginations with things beautiful and things wicked.

Walking My Lobster Back Home

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Gee but it’s great after being out late, Walking my lobster back home. There’s little risk that she’ll turn into bisque, Walking my lobster back home.

Re: “oo===D---o-}-<,” Fiction Submission

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Fake letter, 55 words.

watch

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what drives them here?

Down

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Locked at the highest rung Unable to budge at all

Beyond Penderecki

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From a window, the young Pole Krzysztof Penderecki saw resistance fighters hanged by Nazis...

A Story about Tourism

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It was almost like I was dreaming, he is saying, my visit to the ruins of the factory that made the first Narrative Machines.

You are beautiful just the way you are

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There were avocados splayed across menus like 1950′s pinup girls–all thigh and curve. Avocados in California omelets. Avocados split and diced, sprayed with lime, slapped on bagels, served with tomato.

An Account of my Dwelling (for Kamo no Chômei)

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[B]y fleeing the city to live on the outskirts of nowhere—a place so far off the beaten path that even Duras’s aging Mr. Andesmas would have felt isolated—I was of course trying to escape from none other than myself.

Repatriation

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When he woke he carried the body of a cat instead of a man. Next to him his cat dreamed it had a human body.

Musica

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A sizzling as skin and sinew melt, fall away. "Scream if you need to scream, child." And I scream, and her song gains strength. The warmth of her around me. It is time.

actual flesh

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With nipples like those, rose-colored, we could have fed a nation!

The Morning

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Early in the morning I wanted to send you something for when you wake;

She Called My Poem Nice

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“There is no future in art, you will not change lives with flowery words. Please don’t rock the boat”

Without Forgiveness

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Click-clack, click-clack. The cadence of the tracks below push George back and forth between what happened and what is to come.

Headstone III

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My only brother. Frantic flesh clings to bone.

carbon dating

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I became infamous, in certain circles, for what I achieved, maybe more so for what I did not. I invented a dating service for seniors called “Carbon Dating.” I wrote a book called “What Real Estate Did for Me,” which was very brief and to the point. It

Prurient

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I like him. I really, really like him in a way that I don’t like guys, not anymore, not after all the dirty lies into get in my pants, the dirtier lies to get out of them later, the indignities and the humiliations and the disappointments.

Reverie

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There is a tall and leafy tree in our backyard. Also a bride, a groom, and a chicken.

The Poet

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...there is something quite delicious about the air between people strange to each other, something that makes my skin crackle alive with the possibility of touch...

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?