Stories

Am I My Brother’s Keeper?
These are brothers loving and hating each other, brothers warring for a common desire, brothers who might kill each other if pushed beyond their limits.

Poem of the Week

Desperately, children: I am in desperate need for desperate need.

Poem of the Week

She countered the reverence of his efforts stroke by stroke, tit for tat.

Story of the Week

It is our first time, both of ours. This sentence ends with hate myself.

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.

Poem of the Week

Lost land, this is a song for the scars on your back, for your blistered feet.

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First & Second Looks

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

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

Many times I’ve stood at the lip of this river and wanted to crawl in.

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
Poetry

I let the baby mouse live because I cannot kill what has ears.

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.

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.

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.