Stories
Poem of the Week
Appearance does not really appear, but it appears to appear.
Story of the Week
When the doctors’ voices started turning to noise, I didn’t fight it.
Poem of the Week
I live for now in the second house of having asked a favor from a friend.
Nonfiction
This is a novel that contains more than its actuarial share of falls.
Poetry
Oh they pay me well. I make a small fortune. Yes they pay me well.
Story of the Week
The window washer smiles a little and licks his lips. Nadine smiles back.
Story of the Week
Dad is catnip to the lady residents. He’s tall and lean, plus he’s got all his hair.
Poetry
América, make me wings large enough to carry me back and forth.
Poetry
No one was awake and I was hungover young as clean as a piano.
Story of the Week
Give him a bottle of red wine. You’ll be his best friend right away.
Poem of the Week
The gravest season and least understood is more than pale heads
iPoems
You have your apron on under your coat. We’ve got each other.
Story of the Week
The nights she and Wade have sex she can’t do so without feeling guilty.
Classics, Story of the Week
Dexter was unconsciously dictated to by his winter dreams.
Poem of the Week
I feel unnatural, half a human face smothered in deep light.
Poetry
Yes, Sweetness, a white shadow shimmers on the X-ray of the future.
Poem of the Week
I stop and look at the sky. Suddenly: orange, red, pink, blue, green, purple.
Poetry
You and the cat wish I were baking pumpkin pie and we were happier.
Story of the Week
The Nazis are training some of their storm-troopers here in America.
Story of the Week
Of course she had known. Nothing in this life escaped her design.
Everywhere, people ogled the ring. Everywhere, Emeline posted pictures.
Poetry
I was lying with electricity. I was already a story being told.
iStories
“When we heard the horn, we left—our faces wet—not looking back.”
Winter Contest Winners
Her mother singing out the window at trucks slamming the other way.
Fiction
He never stopped reminding me that I was born in Harmony, Georgia.
Poem of the Week
won’t you celebrate with me that every day has tried to kill me
Poetry
I hike, I bike, I tap at this keyboard.
I survive—and I’m still an old man.
Poem of the Week
This was still the sixties, and a girl in shop was way beyond him.
Poem of the Week
The world smells brand-new crisp the way an ax cuts fire wood.
