Stories tagged prose-poem

Five Days Under A Fridge

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The Southern Comfort he sits outdoors in a snow-storm’s snowflakes collecting in his drink.

Exposure

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there are none

Loco Rd

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Tattooing over your confusion by assuming you decorating the most painful acres of your flesh impresses anyone who has invested just as much money in the effort.

Paddy On Crack

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He lies like a dead deer across the hood of his bed.

Tuscumbia, Alabama

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My dad at the wheel, my mother's ulcer inflamed, she puked her way across northern Alabama that summer, from Huntsville and the rusting rockets to Tuscumbia, the farthest any of us had been west. We drove through raw, blistered towns,…

With a Hint of God

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Sometimes there was a sweet smile on her face, or a hand on her hip. But mostly, her sweet mouth was blurred in motion.

Crass Rags

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The cold glazed ambivalence that abuses anyone interested in getting to know you.

The Thief

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I said, kiss this.

Southern Patterns of Coincidence

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The otherness I slip off like a prophylactic saving humanity from a part of my self outliving me: the best remedy I've come up with to make the world a better place.

The Ruined Person

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The pit of my stomach was bottoming out, this lurching sort-of feeling one experiences when one has coasted WELL OVER an abyss and has no way of finding one's bearings . . .

THE FUTURE

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Once or four times, I have sat with the future. It is the large number of dolphins stranded in Cape Cod these last two months. It rides the public bus and carries a cane made from a tree limb and a chunk of quartz. It is purifying itself in…

Happiness in Love

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The happiness was a tablecloth for a picnic. The happiness was the carpet in the hallway. The happiness was the wall behind the painting. The happiness was the sky behind the cloud. The happiness was the seating in the Saab.

Internet Hole (an excerpt from Psychopomp)

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Seventeen-year cicadas are the sometimes-singers that surprise spring with the ugliest mouths of all.

Empires Of Mice

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[...] a population so conspicuous in their compromise they fail to see the nakedness of their condition.

All Bones

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You will remember. Me. Rena. A Six-Killer by marriage, a Harris by birth. All Bones my mother's name.