[Poem] Bastard Livings

Drastic measures and ornery cupboards and lean-tos and cornrows and souvenir mileage and cabernet pistols and equestrian screams and composted tomorrows and virgin puppetry and alas! alas! the last little minotaur and androgyn meteors and old soup and lost names and fire breadlings and "Follow that cab!" and pagan beverages and cancer and limos and the floor is lava and bankers with tall hats and greyed-out masters and dropping acid and single-file lines and breakfast in Hell and smoker's cough and he's got a gun.

The brains are everywhere now,
Crackling with Leviticus and gingersnaps,
Their ceilings collapsed,
Bartering softly.

[OtherNick] An Uneasy Prologue

The record skipped, hissed, then shattered into dust.

Nick reflexively leapt out of his chair, away from the sudden, distinct pop of the turntable. This was a fortunate maneuver since the floor beneath the chair crumbled almost immediately after. The floorboards groaned with new weight, and he froze, staring at the sudden hole in his apartment.

He felt a tickle on his scalp. Running his fingers through his hair, they came back smeared. More dust. It crunched between his teeth now but had no taste. Nick looked up and saw the cracks forming. He could hear the hole in his floor growing larger. Backing away, he slowly picked up speed. Once he'd cleared the door, he burst into a panicked sprint, nearly taking a spill when the stair's railing evaporated beneath his hand. A small dusty cloud traveled along the rail like a lit fuse.

[Poem] Docile Reckoning

That last time that I checked in
Your English wit was tragically irradiated
Your force majeure femme-hooks aflame

What was that waitress' name, again,
the one with the purgatory laugh?
The one with the mandatory crucifix?

[Not Today!]

The teased fiction will arrive sometime this week. Friday's poem is already holstered. Twitter feed is active.

And I outlined something. And I wrote something else.

(And I tanked something.)

Hot dog.