Stories
Poem of the Week
His body so close I hear the cicada hum of his cells, and he slips away.
Poetry
I’m afraid to say anything or nothing, I’m white & unalterably broken.
Poem of the Week
The dead cowards my parents on a tear through the goddamn fields.
Poem of the Week
By the time I looked over my shoulder, the sun had already fallen.
Narrative Nights
A final toast: “to stories: the ones that made us, and the ones between us.”
Six-Word Stories
A story about what changes and what remains the same, in just six words.
Story of the Week
All diseases were conquered. Death was an adventure for volunteers.
Readers' Narratives
I never wavered, even when it was clear he was the dangerous one.
Story of the Week
I don’t want fiction. What I want is truth. Or someone’s version of it.
Nonfiction
Progressive stages of revision eliminate incidence in favor of essence.
Story of the Week
A widow is sort of a holy figure, while a divorcée is a tawdry one.
Poem of the Week
End of October, days recede quickly into night. Leaves fall in slow motion.
Poetry
My son trims a curtain of lashes, immures them into a stray year.
Story of the Week
“I think he does not care for art; I fancy he has not even read Pushkin.”
Story of the Week
A gravely ill man was waiting for me in a village ten miles distant.
Poem of the Week
The almanac tells them when the moon passes into ghost weather.
Poem of the Week
He sits hiked up, naked to the waist, like a stone in the bedclothes.
Story of the Week
The dog glares back at Roger, his eyes on fire, but he doesn’t let her go.
Story of the Week
Human language, Winston thought, was not adequate for spiritual union.
Story of the Week
There was no sense in brushing off or any other civilized thing.
Story of the Week
I was enraged at being alone on the outside of all that love and lust.
Graphic Stories
I'll rid the world of bad things. But first, I need to get more coffee.
Story of the Week
The peanut seller tore sheets out of paperback books to make the cones.
