Most recent stories

The Serious Writer Tracks His Stats

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The officers carried him away in cuffs as he yelled "I NEED STATS! PLEASE! JUST GIVE ME THE STATS!"

Dead Kennedys

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Death is both alien and intimate to us; neither wholly strange nor purely one's own.

On West 4th Street

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Across from the Hell Hole the Cage on Sixth pulses, sweats, swooshes, hot concussion as players play for keeps.

The Undertakers of the Dead by Unseen Hands(Young Poet at the Bus Stop with Some new Vinyl in his Hand)

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"The truth isn't always beauty, but the hunger for it is.'--Nadine Gordimer Other things do matter just as much of course. Of course they do. Hey I'm still kind of alive inside this poem here. At least I'd like to think so, so yes another…

10 Unofficial Jobs Jake Baker has Never Got Paid For

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Not that their pa really needs the suitcase; he's been coming and going for so long it doesn't matter. The suitcase's just for show. A final goodbye.

Monopoly Money (Or the Lesbian's guide to seducing Straight Women)

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I met Lizzie after her break up with Brad. Big-Dick-Brad she used to call him. That’s ok, I’m not a man, I don’t have penis envy, I feel sorry for men who can’t please the masses like a fruiterer.

Light Eyes

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Once, when he had been married for a year, she sent him a card which said, "If you have seen a cat smoke a pipe, you have got it made." There was an illustration of a big, black panther, standing up on its hind legs, smoking what looked like a big tub of

Crystal Tips

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by the time he's moves onto knives, she has appeared in next door's window: sliver of nut-pale belly, fingers wet with suds, nails painted bright as glitterballs.

Shaken But Not Stirred

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It happened right after I had taken my Uzi to work, retrieved it from my Brooks Brothers briefcase, and fired it upon my desk and its assorted discontents, their paper lives bunched together by clips and notary stamps of approval, now set flying and free. I then walked into…

Drinking

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After you started drinking your meals and hating politics I wanted to climb inside, live in your stomach and dissolve. I wanted to make you see, hold you captive with arms stretched, pinned. listen again, swallow…

Blue/rings 7

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Blue Rings/Blurring

Fast

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Everything seems still, but it's not.

The birds who coo

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My mate and I are owned, but have freedom to take to the endless sky.

When I Met Ian Curtis

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Okay, no freaking out. I mean, this isn't a suicide note. This is suicide fiction.

Noises

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Another noise, softer than the first: swish, thud. You are still. The house is very loud tonight.

Heroic

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This is an older story that was inspired by research on naming conventions while trying to find record of my own ancestors in the Ukraine. I did not find them. Instead I was inspired to write this.

In the Path of Mary

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She walks ahead, dropping matches as she goes. Grassland is consumed by flames and when I arrive all is wasted.

February 16, 2006

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When we arriveand are met by strange friendsstrange like the fog on the redreed mudflatsthat span the low tide around Incheon -When we arrivecarrying so much we will not needlike the bus they hire to take us through the darksix people to fill so much more space - When…

The Getting of Ignorance

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It was too late to be eponymous. I was happy enough to be an emulator. But even then, my ideas were nothing but re-runs of re-runs. Like a high-school production of Macbeth.

Dear Earth, On the Occasion of Your 40th Earth Day Birthday

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Everyone is tromping around in work boots like an army of happy gardeners. The park is smiling from all this attention, from the sound of kids who think work is play. It's not even sunny but we don't mind. I know you don't. Grey days are just as good. They've…

The Second Confession

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Most people come to dislike me because of the things I say.

Bright Red

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They shoveled coal into the furnace of the city so the ghosts would be warm for their haunting.

The Secret

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The sudden sound of his engine starting breaks the silence of the hot, summer, Florida night. As he drives away in his black Chevy truck he glances in the rear view mirror at his girlfriend's house. He tries to forget about the girl he is leaving behind. His heart begins to…

An Idiot is Never Worth Your Time or More Mythomania for Your Buck An Idiot is Never Worth Your Time or More Mythomania for

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"It's a true saying then, that 'it's never worth while speakingto an idiot,'" answered Smerdyakov firmly, looking significantlyat Myshkin." - Dostoevsky "Why are you telling everyone that you are going to Tchermashnya, so that you think you're going to Moscow, when you…

Almost There

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...children live in the moment like no one else. Which is a good lesson for us all, especially when crossing an ocean. Because out here you are alone with the rhythm of your thoughts and the ghosts of your past.

The Museum

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Flicking through the sheets on her clipboard, Evelyn double checked the address with the mismatched numbers on the letterbox. Its mouth was a rusty, gaping grin like it had lost its dentures.

To The Guy Who Sat Next To Me On The Flight Home From Amsterdam

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I guess you felt more comfortable holding your Moby Dick

The Cicada's Cry

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In the cicada's cry No sign can foretell How soon it must dieBasho "Hear the locusts?" The woman lifts the child's head. "Hear em, baby?" The child looks blankly in the…

Letter to Neruda

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You have been my woman’s lover now for seven years, ever since your two souls met at La Isla Negra.

Looney Tunes

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I put my arms around her and whisper to her while she plays the piano. She wiggles and tells me to stop it.