Snow fairy body conditioner all sold out. I still smell laughter.
They were tossed until Lightning struck the boat in half Splinters like nut shells
Mimics a phantom Running so fast she crashes She loved and left soon
If I had to choose, Criticism than lashings. Lashings than to die.
Eczema treatment Gluten, so happen‘s the cause “No bagel—thank’s doc.”
when the real thing’s far to loop in my head—our heads perfect then perform
palm leaves mid-summer kiss of caramel apple too lush green-gold haiku
Suppressed, I yearn still Perfected a cheesecake too! Cooled on window sill
We clock out at the same time also So when the slivers of sun tiptoe through the office blinds I recoil And then recoil at the thought that this cave has blinded me Until I don’t want to see myself anymore and my cubicle even less
Sicker than a sticker on streets like splat Whatever the word was Just jiggle the keys and I’ll juggle the rest
Today, I’m at the freehand on Ohio (19 E), feeling fortunate that I can leave then to somewhere to sleep the same night then to my need to rush the gauntlet where people (are meant to) battle to meet (but ultimately fall short of) my lofty expectations then to: negative ruminations behind and a mind […]
What do I have a spare tire for? I don’t even know how to drive. I told my friend I didn’t have friends and he agreed. I wanted to meet new people, but then I couldn’t find any good reason I’d leave my place to meet people.
Chew on your foot Sleep on your pillow Walk with your step Paws on your chin So you’ll drop your attention down to me You have me now When at one time Watashi wa inu o mochimasen deshita
Fall is a lanky hipster. A lanky hipster with a Brooks seat on his bike and a fedora on his head. A fedora on his head and an infinity scarf draped over a perfectly creased American Apparel collared shirt. An American Apparel collared shirt not currently found on Amazon. An original. Cared for and with […]
I am the River Moldau collecting beneath crossed ankles. I am the sideways push to get out from your path. I am you, stained grey-air ash. I am warmest French bread and condensation on the plate. Me and the droplets waiting for spreadable Everything’s Better Butter.
Key click and key click And decline with surety this and the next also “Could these pieces be any more hollow?” “These aren’t writers. These are twenty-something-aged children” So the poems and the flash fiction and the creative nonfiction are sophomoric So I begin hating my job as an editor This publication is small so […]