Stories Poems Essays

an unknown package

it’s all garbage anyways that will just end up twirling around inside the Texas sized trash ball.

The aliens are bacteria, viruses and fungi. They like to live in the most trendy spot in the right now: the bowels.

It glares down at me with a smug crustacean grin, and at once I have no question this is a lobster demon.

So many questions. Who was she, that she would bury a book? Would it be wrong to dig it up and read it?

I watch the door, I watch the window. And flinch at every noise. Dream every nightmare.

The biting rainwater dripping down my back melds with something deeper, some knowing. The crow is still here.

His scissors are soaking in soapy water. She turns and almost stabs him in the belly. He jumps back.

Pandemic poverty more floods and fires and here and there a Machiavelli who can smile and smile and be a villain.

In the attic stands a cardboard mansion. I can relate to this wallpaper, slowly coming unglued inside this house.