Myles Zavelo 日 12/07/2024 · admin No comments


Mean girls try to hurt him.

Angelica, Christine, Deborah, Ginger, Lillybeth, Teresa.

They are cold messes.

I’ve had it up to here with them.

They can go suck fifteen thousand toes.

Fifteen thousand toes. All lined up, wriggling on a beach.

The mean girls can kneel in the sand and suck them.

The mean girls say that Joe/Joey/Jonas/Jonah is a fucking pig.

When they confront him, he goes completely deaf––I admire him for that bravery.

He’s not a pig.

He just spreads love around like he’s lousy with it.

Jesse Hilson 日 30/06/2024 · admin No comments


It’s about thirty minutes into the ride when the African guy in the passenger seat says to Khuftullah, in English, “We were told to blindfold you.”

“I’ve been to the camp before, I’ve seen everything.”

“We were still told. By the Emir.”

“Do you know who I am? You must be new.”

“I know who you are,” the front passenger says, looking back into the Jeep. “Your name is Maz Khan. We know this. But what’s your war name?”


Laughter breaks out in the stinky Jeep, among the two brothers, driver and passenger.

“We heard about you,” the passenger up front says. “Your name means ‘I feared God.’ Why did you stop? What happened?”

Brad Liening 日 18/06/2024 · admin No comments


You line up with the others.
An unscrupulous eyeball attends.
It’s been years and the drinking water
Remains suspect. Power
Continues to pool. You want it to be happy hour
But it’s not. Now you’re nowhere
With everyone else.
White teeth multiply
Behind the tinted glass of a limousine.

David Kuhnlein 日 12/06/2024 · admin No comments


The unending construction on Michigan roads was due to the gold hidden beneath them, but all Jacob’s team had unearthed so far were corpses. Tantalized by lost Indian mines, the promise of bandit treasure thawing beneath the surface of a cryptic X, myths of sunken steamers, buried stagecoaches, outlaw caches, gangster banks, they entered potholes deep as vehicles. There were days when Jacob wished that cracked roads were as simple as fluctuating temperatures and half-assed craftsmanship, and that his life had not taken such a brutal, subterranean turn.

Jacob faced his church, an empty lot, as hundreds of cotton wisps danced sideways through the air, collecting in curb corners like snow. Any pleasantness was undermined by the groans of bars of gold beneath them.

Putzing down I-75, heading home from a dig, sunbeams refracted off the cracked windshield, blinding him. His wife, Rebecca, piped music directly into her hearing aids, mumbling ska band lyrics. Jacob cranked the knob on the dash, drowning them in static. She ignored his moving mouth. It was rare his words had a receipt. Had there been no promised pot of gold at the other end of his hair piece, Rebecca would have left. She enjoyed crumpling his body parts like leaves in her mind. Not even the wind his soundwaves floated upon mistook his stagnancy for motion. Like an anatomical cross section of them together, the road wore away in thin patterns of tread.

Nick Greer 日 04/05/2024 · admin No comments


She makes for the door, managing a foot in the hallway before he hooks her away, giving her a shove back into the apartment. This time she rushes him, clawing and biting, managing to sink her teeth into his arm before he shoves her off, harder this time, aggravated by the pain. The shove sends her stumbling back, slamming into the kitchen island, where she slides down to the floor, defeated. He inspects his wound, more curious than anything. Her teeth have broken the skin and droplets are beginning to well, accompanied by a tingling. He brandishes his arm near her face, inviting her to inspect her handiwork. Is this what she wants? To hurt him? Or does she want him to return the favor? She cowers against the island, hoping this will turn him off, but it has the opposite effect. He brings the wound to her mouth, demanding she taste his pain, meager as it is. She refuses so he smears the blood against her lips. Just a little touch-up, he sneers before kissing her, taking back what is rightfully his.