We believe students and readers everywhere deserve a great and free modern library, inside of which they can get deliriously, entertainingly, profoundly lost. And found.
Stories
Interviews - Audio/Video
Poets need to be
in constant touch with the extremes of feeling.
in constant touch with the extremes of feeling.
First-Person Winners
Mother had always told me that everybody loves a self-absorbed ass.
iPoems
He pretended he was in his boat, his cellmate’s flushing, Arctic Ocean.
Poetry
Small valleys and veins give way to a lifted ridge like a rib or an arm bone.
Poetry
A man drunk on the damage he made to a boy’s young mouth.
Poem of the Week
& I said let there be dark pouring from your mouth at daybreak
Story of the Week
That, indeed, is very nearly the whole of the higher artistic process.
Story of the Week
An awkward, unscientific lie is often as ineffectual as the truth.
Poem of the Week
Warm breath in my ear mouthing a name; rivulet folded back in water.
Poem of the Week
In its shadow, our mislaid secrets cascade down around us.
Poetry
My dear, even my ear is trying to eat itself in its attempt to forget you.
Story of the Week
“How is it fair that you know who I am but I have to guess about you?”
Poem of the Week
I needed more. I worked her lips back and wedged my hand in.
Story of the Week
Enjoy the prison. It’s very impressive, worth spending some time!
Poetry
She was gone then, inaudible, steeple-reticent, demure as sky.
Nonfiction
He could see I was American, but I thought he was unlikely to harm me.
Narrative Outloud
Jayne Anne Phillips
Poem of the Week
I continue composing my love letter, hoping to love her more.
Story of the Week
Her top lip lingered behind, pressed between his. They were soaked.
Poetry
There is a lot about others I don’t remember, outliving an interest.
Interviews
When he died earlier this year an enormous hole was left in my life.
Nonfiction
The hut was cluttered with the skulls and bones of small animals.
Poem of the Week
Sometimes one does wade into it or is ambushed as by a incensed fog.
iStories
Later in the pale of dawn your hair brushed across my forearm.
iPoems
You are with outsized footnotes that have tracked across the Internet.
Poem of the Week
It began last spring / Flowers blooming like crazy / No balm to our fear
