Stories

Poem of the Week

My father made me watch softball on ESPN 2 to help me stay alive.

Poem of the Week

If everyone’s lost on the roads, you might as well fly. Enjoy your life.

Fiction

He fell to the floor and begged the gods. The gods were silent.

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First & Second Looks

Heroic redemption relies on the revealing of one’s true hidden self.

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Fiction

Karen was, in that moment, nothing, emptiness. She was oblivion.

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Interviews

I recoil from the certitude that religion can give a person; it’s horrific.

Poetry

Waiting for a cure, waiting for the closeout sale, the black sail.

Poem of the Week

For one hundred years I followed old people to learn what I was in for.

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First & Second Looks
Story of the Week

Even before bills and rent and adultery—you don’t sleep well.

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iPoems

In the morning light, I could hear Bashō hard at work.

Story of the Week

I should never have the notebook and the pencil in the right pockets.

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Poem of the Week

The appendix on political correctness explains why none of that is funny.

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Classics

I had the tongue of an adder and my heart was black with rage and hate.

Poem of the Week

You are afraid pain itself might develop a way to communicate.

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Poem of the Week

We have harvested nothing more than the stench of middle age.

Poetry

For sixty or maybe seventy years this sidewalk has been lying here.

Poem of the Week

In every pair, one shoe smells of exodus, the other of the body’s sweat.

Fiction

The first time I met you I fought your father in the driveway.

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First & Second Looks

Happiness is rare. There are no happy periods, only happy moments.

Fiction

We are like a village here, separated from the rest of the world.

Poem of the Week

One door teaches to read for meaning and pleasure. Another shuts.

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Fiction

He was gentle and slow, like a blind man washing dishes.

Fiction

Poems and stories are the whisperings of angels we cannot see.

Story of the Week

I dream of snakes coming out of me and through the house to find her.

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Story of the Week

Their mother was the real beauty of the family, or so everyone said.

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First & Second Looks

A raucous voice I raise in praiseful song, but it’s myself I praise.

Poetry

I tell him: junkies are the only people worth talking to about love.