Most recent stories

Extraterrestrial Bingo

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Let me tell you about extraterrestrial bingo: it's loud. They put the speakers over my head. And the microphone keeps moving. Most of the organisms here are old. And from another planet. I see a lot of tentacles. A lot of auras and bugeyes. Everyone seems to know the…

verses versus verses versus verses

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poetry less than poverty: / fair warning to poets, but a good sign.

Ode to Flannery O'Connor

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December 1995 “It's almost Christmas! Of course I'm going.” Gert's bosom swelled like a peacock's fan. “If you were more of a Christian, you'd go, too, Joe.”“Right. And leave the Mr. Kiddie Porn King of the World Wide Web here while…

Emily's Letter to her Husband's Lover

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I almost kept him on the shelf with all the trophies.

Texturality

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A.The poem of rational progression is dulling.Make the leap. Go beyond juxtaposition to collision.We like poetry that does double duty, triple duty, quadruple duty. We like poetry that mixes the grit, poetry that has the texture of complexity.Reason asserts an…

Two Drunken Elves Don't Know a Good Hobbit When They See One

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Wait for it. It's not the end of the world, it's the end of certain things. It's not that the sky is falling, it's that the coral reefs are dead or dying. I don't know how the ravaged trees have managed to survive this long with us breathing…

air hugs

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but all I can give them now are air hugs

Unnamed

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The child was delivered, set to breathing, and whisked away before Fae Anne could even catch a glimpse of her.

Warm Day, Virus City

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From inside the baking hot car we watched our father, nervous in his face mask and gloves, step through the wooden gate into grandma's front garden. She was waiting for him, thin and lonely behind the frilled lace curtain. She held the iPad in her left hand, and she…

far outside

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I'm staying in swinging all night Hell not just all night but every night I can possibly sink my teeth into

In the Face of Death

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She put on her hat, and walked into the back area, where she found a locker that held her name badge and a tube of chap stick.

The Truth About Storytelling

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irretrievably we tell ourselves stories irretrievably as beaded water slides off our skin

Jangling Note

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The art of boozing can't redeem a bastard.

2 Queers on a Seaside Bench Discussing the Ocean

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An impromptu anniversary weekend up the coast.Our hotel was parallel with the highway, which was parallel with the aforementioned bench, which was parallel with a footpath, which was parallel with the shore, which was slowly eroded by the Pacific. He was sitting on the…

The Virus

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It all felt so tentative, he thought. The whole set up. Running water. Electricity. A vast network of instant communication. Food in all the stores. It was the latter that gave him the most concern. He'd never really been hungry. Even in his poorest days, in his early…

Not as a Poet

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She's not a poet, but does she have to be? She comes to the reading to read the poems of her recently dead husband, for she made a vow: that she would read his work at an open mic. Now she is keeping her word. It's her way of keeping him alive or maybe it's his way of…

No Prada, No Burberry, No Gaston Lauvert

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Although it was unlikely that she would witness mobsters racing up or down Wabash Avenue with guns ablast, she paced behind the hotel's ground-floor glass eyeing traffic for fifteen or twenty minutes . . .

MOMENT

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It was a cruel question, coming on breath that stank of the grave.

Deliverance

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Bleeding quietly

Forever KAP

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She mustn't...

I'm Hoping, I'm Reaching

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I'm hoping, I'm reaching, I'm scratching the sky...

Where Has All the Laughter Gone?

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The despair that comes and goes is here again I saw a woman who was holding herself As she walked past, as if a fire were about to Lunge out of her parts She was in such great need of being held The despair that comes and goes is here again

All Stories Need An Ending

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Drugs, after all, once in the system, demanded unfalteringly more drugs.

Improvisational

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This is not her death. This is absent-minded omniscience. This is impossible. And then again, the inside-out, implosion. And the hall was clogged with bodies; none of them hers, but who could be sure?

Wraiths of Vapor

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The rain hammers the windows, an unorthodox pattern on a sad Sunday morning.

leave the dog, take the cannoli

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he who laughs last is probably a dumbass fuck

Tuna Salad In Cat Heaven

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I ate a tuna salad sandwich for lunch.

Letter

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I'm writing you this letter played on a cherry flute. I'm sending it along through the poem's cloud of incense. The only delivery system I still hitch up for long distance pitching. I'm writing you a letter you'll probably never read. Never…

The Summer Of My Beautiful Idiocy

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In the summer of '68 my father persuaded me to go visit my grandparents on their farm in North Dakota. I had long hair and dressed like a French symbolist outlaw. Took the train to Minot, spent the night in a hotel (watching Your Cheatin' Heart, movie about Hank…

Neural Tones

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--"Look at us," she murmurs. "Tristan and Isolde without the adultery." --"Well, you can't have everything." --"No? I heard otherwise."