Tag Archives: Microfiction

unit 145 (pt. ii) fumarole dreams in the vestibulecelebratory dinners featuring jackals and other untruthscurrently undergoing a vector change kiwi quiches timekeeper their florinsmove away from the couscous & contempt dowry requests will now winter in situsmokes drinks talk and … Continue reading →

unit 145 contagion upliftthe universal undercurrentsthe indentions in unit 145at the rate of 751a tiller floozy in kite-flight the contraltos are having a hard timetimepieces shot / colons missing /its 333 (really 3:33)get thee behind! take a downer, man … … Continue reading →

a sixteenth note expiry i have a need to plead … i have a weave to cleave& acts to distract attention i have a hair-plug inclination to desert my kidsi gotta’ bullfrog lisp i got a broken face … i … Continue reading →

imminent dissolve pageboys and pompadoursa friendship rich in penurya putting together of workman reflexesgymkhanas by the poundmy subpoena is just one of many! my pony is eponymous i hear resonances of frigate birdsbrigantines and libertines by the tonneare you a … Continue reading →

(misfire?) <redux> Even though I’ll be in the red, I’ll be under. Your footfall sounds like a peg leg stamping. Tap into your urethra with a rusty catheter and maybe you’ll strike oil. If you’re diligent, you’ll be indigent. If … Continue reading →

Memorable Stuff I Read This Week The thread of the story fell to the ground, so I went down on my hands and knees to hunt for it. This was at one of those patriotic celebrations, and all I saw … Continue reading →

half-uttered dishwater homilies shaver of renowned swabsbring to the decimated homelandcommitted sobriquets and disguisesthe cupidity mechanismsthe mutilations of cupolas a menu of compass pointsone of the few mutineers of her soreswill perform and dishcloth the medallionof our 21st-century cesspit lives … Continue reading →

What You Said What could I possibly say when you say (backhand): it’s you. I don’t know if you’re talking twang, talking to those radicals, or if you’re addressing me. Somehow, judging by the tonsure of your vole, I think … Continue reading →

A Weathercock in Her Occipital This is now. The last war on drumsticks was a war on fructification. It was fudge batty, it was fatty bruit. I fructified the crumb cross-question and I crossed my own patisserie when I got … Continue reading →