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A Tribute To “Tornado At The Club,” From Evan S. Connell’s MRS. BRIDGE

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I’d been listening to the radio. Tornado watch! Heading this way! 75 miles per hour! I don’t like to alarm the guests; a false alarm to these people could cost my job, but so could ignoring real danger.

Don't Leave Me Alone!

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A joust. A tournament. A playing field. ¶ Hmm . . .

next love letter

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Eat me so I can sink in your mouth, my paper fraying along the sharp topography of your tongue, lodging in the holes where your teeth used to be. There, I will storm an infection until your mouth inks my words.

Darcy Eastland

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To him the younger women, contemporaries of the bride, all sounded as if they were breathing helium.

Forty Two

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The gate squeaked, the gravel shuffled and the letterbox clattered as February 14th's mail cascaded to the ground.

From the Found Notebooks of Homer's Writing Group

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Oh, also, had no idea what the whole visit to the Kingdom of the Dead was getting at. Interesting, but seems unrelated to the larger story. I'd cut it. Remember — this is a story about one man's attempt to get home. Stay focused on that.

The Laughing Buddha

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I. When I was young, my best friend was only three inches high. He was chubby, always cheerful, and very funny. He didn't start out as anything much. I always imagined he came into being in a small factory, in China, at the mercy of two small, yellow hands and a …

Poem for the betraying Lover and his new Love

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Wishing he holds you all night, unshaven chin/between your breasts.

Red

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Erwin came into the kitchen through the back door and went straight to the sink to clean up. Black mud and dried blood crusted his fingertips and caked the callused whorls of his knuckles.  He used the round of strong-smelling soap he kept for…

The Passenger

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I will not leave the boat. The sea has left you.

First Lives

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There are some, I am told, who never see the dead, though I am as yet unable to believe it.

Courage Under Fire

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Once upon a time, my friend and I met a nanny pushing a baby carriage and reading an e-book. She wore a plaid dress, blue stockings and a white barrette. A set of wrinkles marred her tanned brow. Multitasking seemed too hard on her. Inside the carriage

Robot Museum

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ABSOLUTELY DO NOT TAKE PICTURES OF ROBOTS!

To the Bonfire Rhumba (ELECTRIC DELIRIUM 1.9)

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The night is a jelly slosh, a fertile rumble, a rhumba, black and seeping, thick. An arm rises.

My Search for The First Snowman

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This was my quest for over 6 years. It would deplete my bank account, test my marriage and get me in with a lot cool celebrities.

Divinatrix

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Hooking up.

Drug Series # 19: Heroin

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Billie Holiday and I want a cup of coffee and they tell us to go fuck ourselves.

Mel Brooks Eats Crispy Bacon

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Gorillas with Picassos form charcoal memories Van Gogh leaves his legacy in forgotten fields Astrologers approach the sea of false jealousies And Mel Brooks eats crispy bacon

With an Emphasis on the Shine

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How her camisole strap falls, her bare shoulder, her tattooed arm like an old, Coney Island mural. That dream she had: I bought her a fake, diamond necklace in Manhattan. She wanted to kiss me in the alley but was afraid of the rats

A Worthy Caws

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It started with crows. I'd walk the switchback trail to the top of the park with its outlook of the city and if I didn't see any crows I'd whistle and they'd come swarming from everywhere. I'd give the peanuts a toss and the crows would caw their heads off and peck at…

Bitter Love Story

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the dogneck gave no support

Not Drowning

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You were a buoy.

Gastronomy

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your olive-pitting thumbs

Unattended (novel excerpt)

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A sticky glass. An open copy of Outside magazine. A flat part of the meadow that reeked of blood and cologne. A dog (my dog) hidden in the closet, shivering so hard the hangers jangled.

The Oddest Thing Ever Found in a Pocket

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On an October day in 1909 Mrs. Prudence O'Kannady, industrious wife of Mr. Joseph Patrick O'Kannady of Corn Falls, Nebraska, discovered, while sorting clothing for the wash, in the pocket of a set of dungarees belonging to her youngest son Rufus, a tiny human head. When…

The Nightly Dance

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The electricity animates my body into myclonic dance. I do not rest. I dance with the demons; I dance with Nijinsky rage. I dance with the fury of Saint Vitus and his wooden cross. My shoes are fashioned with my own fear, tanned and stretched over my feet

Watching Stanley Kowalski in the TV Room of Belle Haven

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That streetcar named Desire, it don't hardly stop for me no more. Leastwise not while I'm awake, and I don't have to be telling no nosy aides why I make them noises in my sleep.

Cow

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“He looks funny again,” the twins would say. “Cow looks funny, Mummy.”

An Object for the Sun God

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this one was abandoned... a splinter left under the skin, pushed out by protective flesh

Genesters

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There once was a lake skipping stone and it skipped, five times, the end... Ceiling fluorescents brilliant in the white space opened to the exterior of the Hog n' Bluster hero shop through the narrow glass front and shown out to the empty brick paved commons of…