Tag Archives: Flash Fiction

in my neighborhood

At the end of the film I’m on my back staring at the night sky… The man who helped me is lying nearby—his mouth bloody… We’re lost in a thick fog of tear gas—the sky disappears above us—the occupation failed… … Continue reading

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nothing in between

Once Blue I was once blueIn my black converse IsolateInchoateAnd nothing in between “So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can … Continue reading

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in my neighborhood

You wear your indecision well. Your coterie of suitors vexed— Working out your complex geometry. Your heart a cipher— Hermetic / unbreakable. “I want to be free to try things that don’t make sense yet. I put materials together that … Continue reading

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she was desirous

Clodomira’s Writing Block She wanted to stab her writing hand, instead she focused on the portrait of Fidel Castro on the wall. She was long accustomed to falling into a meditative state by staring at Fidel’s philtrum. It was oddly … Continue reading

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expect the unexpected

Pockmarked … later I get flashes of grandpa with his old runners all rolled up into one giant sticky mess—balled and held together with tape… He’d talk about the high school girls he’d “teach” Bible Study to. They: all spouting … Continue reading

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happy three to thee

huh? wha’? wha’ happened?! While I wasn’t paying attention this endeavor turned two years old, on 11/17/21, and quickly shifted into its third year of existence … Hey, hurray, harrumph! This is still: thee istsfor manity reader And this remains … Continue reading

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in my neighborhood

You are like the tuber of calcaneous, necessary but non-articulating… Without you there is no ambulating me… The things you said to me in your gasps and low moans: “They transferred me to room 15…” “It’s the same to die … Continue reading

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minute of elation

Elation in Elisions The odious neglect of the scab Crab Nebula yelling: I Zimbra, I Zimbra, dada, dada, dada, doo! At the Cabaret Voltaire after hours parties degenerate into clean well lighted chess matches in top hat and overcoated teas … Continue reading

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out of tune

Bile-Yellow (redux) The refulgent quality of my psychopomp is only surpassed by my staring into the sun. Psychopomp? Who the hell needs to be led in? I often stare into the sun. It’s the only way I know to calm … Continue reading

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someone muttering bummer

Jodhpurs & Jujyfruits There are blocks everyday. People die everyday. There is gothic organ music swelling and ebbing in the ether. There is someone muttering “bummer” nearby and the smell of acrid pot wafting on an eddy of warm wind … Continue reading

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