Most recent stories

Ballad

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Hi de ho, and hey, hey, hey; The farmer's daughter is made of hay. I went to touch her but she blew away, And noo ma hert is nae langer gay. Hi de hoo, and how do you do? The farmer's wife has a cold up her flue, And takes me away…

Philosophic Fashions of Penultimate Times

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What are our reigning philosophies today, what dominant schools inform and lead our intellectual efforts, inspire our blissful reveries, inflame our breathless humanity?

Love at First Sight

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Life ascends gradually—just like they always said. I stop counting on immediate transformations—the overnight best-seller, instant enlightenment—and instead focus on what I can do: Writing a little each day and making it to Mass on the weekend. I even giv

Two Snapshots of A Drowning Girl

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One fine afternoon a few months after her husband's death, Susan awoke in the porcelain tub of her gigantic, empty house with: two champagne bottles, one only half-empty; a Xanax bottle, completely empty; and a loaded gun, which was most startling

Paris in the the Spring

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he thought of her / longingly

Mom forgot her phone!

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The secret meaning of celebrity

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Unapproachable... for all that.

Span

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That’s a long time/ to live with the certainty/ of your death

Mice and Men

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Some life in Rosco's walls. He listened with his dead wife Sonya's stethoscope: rustles and scratching, a collective heartbeat.“Vermin”, said Vlad, Rosco's neighbor. “Will take over if no kill.” He smiled with one tooth, urped some vodka. “I…

Ah, You’re Funny. Good Thing

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I was talking to this famous female artist at the reception, (as if I knew anything,) “If you want to be taken as a serious artist now, you have to have one long serious eyebrow.” There was no reaction. So, I said: “Also, you should kn

Rwanda Suite: Gasoline

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I realize the kid is still smoking. Shocked, I tear the cigarette from his mouth, throw it to the earth, and grind it to death with the heel of my boot.

There's Always A Tree Dying Somewhere

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Bonus included.

A headline for Amy Hempel

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I shall go with german rules of capitalization in titles today.

tea

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what a mess

Men Will Always Thirst

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IA prophetic mile from the towering hill,tombs of ages lie.I open my eyes; I am stillin hieroglyph dreams of histories,nearby moans the sea, cold as usual, consecrated.Something created, destroyed,then in shadow, remade. The shore spouts forthold silence,…

Time Flies

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Time has wings. They are bright and beautiful, like those of a butterfly. They are delicate wings, and they carry the years away from my decaying mind. I would break those wings if I could, for tomorrow I turn seventy-three, and I grow weary of their ince

Promenade

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At the week's end, memories may come to you Of weekends same as those just gone before, That fade away from seeing as a tide's grey flue, That vanishes once travelled to a shifting shore: Still, hope you'll know a girl for an hour anew, One who fades…

Past Imperfect, Future Imperfect

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A proper study of human history should lead the student to an inescapable desire to commit suicide

Gentry Major

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“Paroxysms, well, what in the hell’s a paroxysm?” “I think the better question is what kind of name is Gentry, Gentry?” “Yes, that’s a better question. Do you really want to know? I was named after my grandfather, Ol’ Gentry Jones Filips III. They

Blue Baby

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they taught art

The Haunted Coins

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(I woke once from a bad dream to throw them from the drawer, but my hands were so clammy, the coins stuck to my hand! I had to scrape them off my palm on the edge of the table.)

At Least There Will Be Plenty Implied

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Accidental suicide, though. Why, that could happen to anyone.

Matilda

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A day will come when silence spells what nothing else could. It will come to feed those things no autumn can. And when that day is over we will go through a period of bereavement, pray we won't recover fully. Not everything is a…

Fugue No. 2

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Moonless sky of stars, silently flickered by bats, with constellations defined and bold. The curve of the plough matching that of your shoulder, as if it were a decoration.

Here Comes the Sun

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She lies on her stomach by the side of the pool staring into her towel. On her back, I can make out a pastel isthmus, surgery's pink art or charlatan's scab, I can't tell which. She is beautiful as rare roast beef is beautiful.

Exhumation

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the poems/ we never got to will remain,

Behind the Ear

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She grew tired of waiting for her husband to give her a flower so she picked one for herself.

You Write Books?

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“Somebody told me you write books.”

The Invisible Corpse Candle

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Her eyes stared wide with panic, her teeth chattered intermittently with impressive intensity, and with her ineffectual stabs at the air she completed the portrait of distracted mania.

eggs

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i ask you what i taste like and you say "not much."