Tag Archives: Microfiction

in my neighborhood

Posted on December 9, 2021 by istsfor manity

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

Posted on December 8, 2021 by istsfor manity

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

Posted on December 7, 2021 by istsfor manity

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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in my neighborhood

Posted on December 6, 2021 by istsfor manity

A hiss marked the moment Of the dissolution within Blanched images of featureless heads We breathed / we clawed / we panted From the depths of unsung parametersFrom the blue strictures of freedom As we lost face Mouth / eyes … Continue reading →

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in my neighborhood

Posted on December 5, 2021 by istsfor manity

Step into the Muse’s shoes— What is this place? What does it mean? Work in your own small corner— A better place in the midst of a slow apocalypse. “All I remember is my mother’s tears and my empty stomach. … Continue reading →

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in the haggis

Posted on December 4, 2021 by istsfor manity

Two Views: Temptation Inside I. n + 0 Sister Ray was in the habit of cleaning her habit every Friday after vespers. After a sponge wash she’d iron the habit singing in low sussuration to her favorite Velvet Underground songs … Continue reading →

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she was desirous

Posted on December 3, 2021 by istsfor manity

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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who no one

Posted on December 1, 2021 by istsfor manity

The Dry Descent (redux) He hears a cry—the lamentation of a dying man. He turns, strains, to see. Who? No one. He staggers on scree and falls heavy on his back; his poles useless after two thousand miles. The sky … Continue reading →

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the word piles

Posted on November 30, 2021 by istsfor manity

the heebie jeebies (redux) this is about a poet who writes bird poems —without birds appearing in said poems mouth breathers and thirteen year old prostitutes often appear crying artillery shots echo in the blue distance the poet is a … Continue reading →

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expect the unexpected

Posted on November 26, 2021 by istsfor manity

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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