Most recent stories

I will miss you

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I will miss you, sure, let it be known. The memory, and the dream, both. That familiar smell of Old Spice when someone wearing it comes near. And the smell of Coppertone Suntan Lotion on the beaches of our youth in Chicago. And the pressure of your fing

Leda, After the Swan

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I do not jerk up to sirens birds doorbell shouts hello hello through the letterbox hello

Mores

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I like my men like I like my wine: in a box.

the duck discovered alive in a hut

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So this has led again to my hunger over you, the lion of all people, the other I, pertaining to voice, speech, perception. I knew right away how you rose up inside me, how I could fly near your ceiling. Right away could feel the tide, rising and swollen

Three Lullabies (after 'Ooh La La' by the Ditty Bops)

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she knows that's the natural place of a man, above everything, closest to god, eyes slowly filling with rain.

Wife

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What used to be a scene has broken into fragments and blips of her on a screen I can’t control or manipulate.

A toast to politicians

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To politicians who think things will stop, When they finally let slip and drop - this government of ours we call The ultimate power of them all.

that's what sea said

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i thirst always for that poetic mouthful

fake letters in reply

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I did do one nice thing for you

Wintering

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Winter makes me reconsider.

Ambivalence

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She said it feels wrong. Too wet, she said. I snickered, she smacked.

Itch

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Clayton had a grin like the hand of a beast that stretched as long as her gravel road...

Did I Tell You I Have Stripes On My Socks?

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Kids are fascinated by me. Adults look the other way. Maybe it's my size. Or maybe it's the stories in the newspapers.

drinking together

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In fact we were all drinking together in banquet halls (on banquet ships) with an epic poet who invented things, made things up, while dying in thorough dissipation. Washed to shore, our souls with our lives, our shadows. And storms swept them away

The Big Cross

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I hope you and asshole are having a good time.

His Laugh is My Yellow (or explaining skin color to a six-year-old boy)

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Max is the color of burnt caramelized sugar the sweet crust that decorates our bright enameled pots.

I'm So Glad

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The boy had decided he needed to sell his music equipment—the p.a. system, his amp, his compact organ. His band had broken up and wasn’t going to get back together. He was leaving town at the end of the summer, to where exactly he didn’t know yet.

blind

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what world is this?

Spoiled Meatloaf

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In a small, cozy diner lived a homemade meatloaf. The meatloaf spent its days lounging on a warm plate with some mashed potatoes and sweet corn. Together they watched television, argued about sports, and ate blueberry pie...

Terry, the virgin

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Terry had an apartment not far from Lake Michigan, where we could stroll to one of the beaches. It was close to Lincoln Park. This was in the summer of 1966. We had to walk up to the fourth floor, and on those steamy hot Chicago summer nights in August,

The Scientist's Wife

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You’re ridiculous. Time travel is impossible, Steven.

Loop

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At night, I watch TV shows with fictional characters who lead my life.

Flight

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Another bird hits the large plate glass patio doors as I am sipping my morning coffee.

Dorothy's Parker House Rolls: A Jazz Age Recipe

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INGREDIENTS --A messy divorce. --A late spring night in Boston. DIRECTIONS 1. First, let's agree to call them "Pahkah House Rolls," for the Pahkah House is a luxury Boston hotel. (We'll be returning to New York on the morning train.)

the rib is a fiction

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You made the space between time and vastness depart. Others may erect a little kingdom around themselves, but not you. You did not exult over the held-out heart. Your mind that seemed as if it was formed between two sweet, altered red lips. I always kne

Good with the big picture

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I always have a serious expression on my face, am usually in a white coat and probably look completely unapproachable but there I am, and pasted in my scrapbook: Local Doctor Saves Another Life.

Bunking off

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He looked like a black paper doorway pasted onto a painting of summer.

just plain Jerry

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I remember one afternoon when Terry and I did it in broad daylight in a nearby park in Lombard, or Glen Ellen. This was after we had broken up already and I was seeing Jolene, I think, before leaving to go out to my writing program at U.C. Irvine. It wa

Please Take

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I have a ball-pein hammer in my coat pocket.

Son of Goya

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I am not against the darkness / I can learn to live with restraint