Slops

By - May 29, 2020

I was midway through my shadowed, septic thirties. I had been hired as a generalist. What I taught was vague and interdisciplinary and unchallengeable. Whatever I said, it was bound to be correct up to a point.

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Cancel Me

By - May 21, 2020

Max is canceled. Oliver is canceled. Kian is canceled. Evelyn is canceled. Gideon is canceled. Rob is canceled. Bryce is canceled. Carter is canceled.

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Internet Girl

By - May 18, 2020

When I was 11 it was spelled with a Big I. That was how I was taught it. How autocorrect corrected it. Like god to God. It was a place to visit. A proper noun. The Internet.

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Cool Air Pro

By - May 14, 2020

Next morning, the a/c went bust. I awoke to a new way of life. Not quite flora or fauna. It was jock itch. Monkey butt. Gutter nuts.

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What She Could Not Make

By - Mar 30, 2020

The man gave her a long stick, showed her the road to the first monastery. He showed her to strike the ground with her stick when she was in danger.

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Power Tools

By - Mar 4, 2020

His house he built by hand, from scrap, piece by piece by piece by piece. Still, he can never decide whether the ground-objects are things found, or things lost.

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Feed the Ducks

By - Feb 20, 2020

“This is all wrong,” I say. I put my hand on Phil’s shoulder. Every surrounding sound feeds into the strangeness; every distant dog bark and car alarm, mothers calling to their children at the playground, the crush of radios. “This is not right at all.”

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Do It Like This

By - Feb 17, 2020

This whole thing—I felt like my life was on the brink of something. And it was, obviously. “We’re going to be parents,” I said.

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Your First Ex-Boyfriend

By - Feb 14, 2020

I’m going to be your first ex-boyfriend

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Poem for the recently laid off

By - Feb 13, 2020

You are no longer twenty-seven or twenty-eight
Or twenty-nine or thirty

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Five Microcosmographies

By - Feb 11, 2020

The guard called me by name, a name he gave me and that is not worth repeating here. Today outside of the museum, I strained to see the emerald through the window. Over the heads of couples picnicking across a long lawn, the guard waved to me.

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Postmate

By - Jan 20, 2020

41st was my block.

Forty one hunned.

Gang.

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