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He was arrested for a horrible crime. It took more than three weeks to identify the body. The newspapers were vague so as not to terrify anyone. He hung his head low as he pled guilty.
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#spotify / Elevators / Sky Burial Monologue
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...galaxies burst into an infinite slide-show of the absolute... god?
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Bill was queasy, short of breath, his chest tightening. He was next. How he hated this game of confession. It was harder than going to a priest, which at least allowed a measure of anonymity. True, these were friends, yet, in terms of the game, he was vastly…
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I want youto remember me. This the placewhere I'll always be, if you're looking hard enough.This is the place I've letgo of all expectations, no regrets, and nomasks. This the place my heartbobbs about like a…
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You need buttered broths and to
copy old writings by hand by
very poor light.
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Maybe it’s the cold that has me seeing double. My sister in Florida would probably laugh, “I told you so” as she sips her pumpkin latte in the barely-cold.
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“What was that about?” Keiko asked as she gingerly separated the lily from the wrapping and the baby's breath and examined the flower. Keiko unbound the lily and noticed that the stem seemed strong. The flower no longer needed the support of the wire, and
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It’s me walking in on you shooting up in the diner’s cesspool of a
shitter, and you trying to conceal the evidence while you’re telling
me it’s straight up your first time.
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...you vigorously screamed blasphemies at inanimate objects
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Leaves dance their way down,unfazed by this September heat. Bus stop routines set already-summer ended years ago.A chipmunk scampers undera parked truck while once againthe young man does his morning…
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THERE'D been mutterings on the shareholders' board about a dodgy deal shoved through. In the rush after the towers' thing to get out relevant stock an executive producer had signed off on some film school kid for five big ones to shoot a…
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The generalized mania and rage was for anything prior, the rare and the bygone, anything that might have been overlooked, anything that might otherwise have been forgotten for good and forever.
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The moonlight illuminated Dahlia’s bare breasts. She remembered when Gerard used to appreciate them.
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Do you spend most of your time on Facebook, or all of your time on Facebook?
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We've got our gang colors on because we're out for retribution. T.S. Eliot made an appearance at a writer's conference on De-Privileging the Dead White Male last night, and the head of a low-residency poetry program tossed hot green tea on him.
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He called me one Friday when I was a kid and told me he wanted to go trout fishing. He had dreamt that I was a worm or a fly -- he couldn't remember which -- but he was sure I would bring good luck to the stream. The next morning, before grandma awoke, I
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A Nonfiction Behind the Scenes look at how the Arcana Magi Universe came to existence.
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The planet looks so peaceful from space doesn't it? Want a blue Gumball? Like a pancake batter with bluish dye mixed into Its big yellow bowl and carried out by a winking Victorian Butler. Like a bowling ball with just the right Weight for your…
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I tell my woman friend the new man's penis is too large. I tell her once. She asks me later whether I asked about it at the doctor's—large cock, she calls it, and I say I told the doctor my boyfriend's in a wheelchair.
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Aubrey pulled close the wool cloak that used to belong to a pilgrim and wondered if some of that saintliness and pardon might rub off. The mail was late and the bushes damp, but at least years of living in the woods had taught Aubrey to avoid thorns…
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It wasn't that I couldn’t imagine it. Rather, I could almost conjure the choreography to mind. One of his hands would graze at the side of my face. One finger would extend and stroke me, from my temples to my chin. He would press my body against something
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For another man she raced through infinite wounds and fists in a monsoon forest. Hands tied to her lover’s for a dance, a roulette of paper cranes exploding across the sky. Cascaded into the sea of black eyelashes.
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I keep encouraging him to write stories not poems, but I think he enjoys writing things that don’t fit together. Things that stumble.
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My future husband is wondering why I'm "taking your crap"
when I'm excellent at standing up to his.
He's cooking dinner in the stylish two story home he owns
and wishing he had someone to share it with,
a blue eyed blonde, but only if she's me.
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1I don't like it when they leave the heads on.I mean it's not nice, is it.The idyllic order of the abattoir.Mary is on stunning and bleeding.She prefers evisceration.Still, the work's ok and it's her day off tomorrow.Deft hands perform their daily ballet.Mary had a…
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The blue whale in the bathtub weighed one hundred tons and wore a grin like the Cheshire cat on steroids. Her smile stretched from wall to wall. Her blowhole scraped the ceiling. Sam never learned how she crammed her tail down into the drainpipe,…
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