Author Archives: Jason Allen

About Jason Allen

Jason is currently living in upstate New York and pursuing a PhD in creative writing at Binghamton University, where he is an editor for Harpur Palate. His work has been published or is forthcoming in: Passages North, Paterson Literary Review, Contemporary American Voices, Cream City Review, The Molotov Cocktail, Oregon Literary Review, Spilt Infinitive, and other venues. He hopes to one day meet Tom Waits and buy him a cup of coffee.

In It For The Empathy

I feel the need to facilitate empathy. I’ve been writing my second novel, poems to fill out my first book of poetry, the first substantial section of my first book-length memoir, writing and writing like I have limited time on … Continue reading

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Culture Versus Cult-ture

[This is a poem I wrote] At Peace with Sin Thank the dead parrot for not speaking, the three-legged dog for not complaining, the mentally challenged child for not wandering into the highway, the serial killer for going next door. … Continue reading

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Method (a scrap of something larger)

My eyes opened as ants crawled along my forehead, ears and mouth. The birds shrieked out conversations from their perches in full-flowered bushes and tree branches high above my head. There was that initial moment of confusion, when someone returns … Continue reading

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An Architect’s Dream (excerpt)

Cut to a park bench. Early afternoon, December, the oak branches are bare and gnarled as ancient fingers and the sky is the color of mummy skin. Our hero is sitting on the weathered wooden bench, watching pigeons scrounge for … Continue reading

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The Zero Hour

The Zero Hour Just past the zero hour and the stars are out and I’m cradled in the arms of a worn fake-leather desk chair, having just leaned back through the drawn-out metallic shriek at the hinge. My boots are … Continue reading

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All music has silences

          When I listen In a quiet room, my head is full of noise. I see a second version of myself, a third, a fourth, and the mirrored walls accommodate the rest of me. I see too much of myself, … Continue reading

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An Excerpt From A Work In Progress

Staff Sergeant Clyde “Haymaker” Periwinkle and his wiry little boy rarely mention the accident, but tonight the gloomy topic has loomed its skulking shadow. Clyde has been imbibing an obscene volume of malt liquor all day, dinnertime has come and … Continue reading

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