Most recent stories

Black Widow

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Hair as black as a Raven’s wing. Dark eyes. You wore a black dress, too, my favorite color.

Blame It on The Good Stuff

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That was nearly two years and a thousand smiles ago.

Gastronomy

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your olive-pitting thumbs

Waiting for a Terrorist

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Tents staked in desert land, a muted building of parched earth, in a thirty year old city with a napalm birth, they wait among gravestones in the sand.

Control

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The eater's pose extending the fork in hand toward the bowl wherein the appetizer lay readied. Salad, carefully configured for its purposes mixing vitality with pleasure which should not be differentiated, don't you agree? Colors selected for their…

Shedding the Skin of Past Lives

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I bow my head and shed the antlers of past lives I no longer butt heads with the universe but I miss my curse and can’t do worse I throw myself in reverse and rehearse the early scenes of science and my full meat diet that sent

prima vera

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a road moment

Osmo's Bells

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Worldwide, sturdy bells quickly superseded decomposable, and edible, cheese balls as jesters' preferred cap ornaments.

Pleiku Jacket

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Our flag-draped coffins float to the surface of an uncharted sea and we appear together—patriots both—on the cover of Life Magazine.

Sweet & Sour

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Since the divorce had gone final, the matter settled once and for all, he’d taken to a masochistic bingo of sorts.

Saturday Birthdays (from FATHER MUST)

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When his mother was all dressed up on New Year’s Eve, and his father, even thought they had tickets for the dance, announced to her he wasn’t going to go, Johnny had gone into his room, put on a white shirt, a dark suit, his dress shoes, and a clip-o

The Kid With the Hair

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threads of Cocoa Krispies

The Letter

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I knew nothing about the letter at first. When I came in that morning and smiled and said good morning, it was a genuine smile and a heartfelt good morning. But the letter, which had arrived the previous afternoon, was already doing its corrosive work of

The Chair of Rejection

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Before I published anything in a literary magazine, I was rejected by literary magazines, dozens of them, and these rejections gave birth to one of my more strange and long-lived art projects.

Trust In Wolves

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All wolves, my child, want to be eaten.

How Many Remain

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how many lighted days remain

Give Tongue

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"Penning a slight of tongue well versed or worse, a salacious lie..."

The Poetry Section

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In the poetry section, no one talks except to say, "excuse me," or, "wow," or, "amazing," with the second 'a' stretched out like a blacktop highway. But mostly they say, "excuse me." and that's only because someone dressed in a corduroy jacket is …

Buzzard

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what lies, in my eyes

Slightly Broken Sonnet

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It's late it's early love youfuck me the difference isin the garage boxes sitbehind me in the trunklike passengers beside melike pedestrians in frontof me I choose our directionwhat stays what comes whatis what and how did I end upin the garage in the first placein the…

We Loved We Laughed We Cried

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My wife broke the news to me. She enjoyed it, too, I'm certain of that. It was a juicy piece of gossip.

Almost There

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On the phone I asked my mother how she was doing. “I’m getting old,” she said. “Going slow. But getting there. I’m ninety-four!” My mother was always 94, when she was really 93. I remember she was 93 right after she turned 92. And 92

The Goodbye Meets the Hello at the Station

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"You come to nature with all your theories, and she knocks them out flat."--Renoir "Dreaming is free."--Blondie "I can't vouch for my ability to avoid dullness..the odd position in which poets find themselves explains their often-sentimental identification with the…

Why I Want To Go North

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we all want to go down / because nothing north can be good.

In Her Wake

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A piece of her skull landed here. But it fell off. Then I couldn't find it.

Cousin

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“The beginning was good. That’s what he likes. The moment when you’re driving in the open air and your hair is flying and your skirt is whipping up around your knees, and he’s smoking, of all things, and happy and looking at you."

Gasoline

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Her hair’s the color of LA at night On such occasions when the Santa Anas Have left the hills bone-dry and burning bright

Devoured Worship

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This wasn't going to be about her anymore.She tied her strong purple balloon to the neck of the wounded horse. Her skirt and her top felt like armor's breath. The tingle across her scalp felt warm. Small rug scrapes that made her think of her last dog, before she died.This…

Berkeley Stations

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or Hamlet,Great Denmark"No good can come out of this house of Berkeley, not ever, not to strut the great book of the world, or for any other discreet purpose." - the Upanishads "What is guile? Who is this Hamlet? Where smarts wounded Denmark? I need…

Concubine on the Ginza Line

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so I tighten hands with my castaway and say/you failed to impress in your folded peacock dress