By Stephen Ground

Weirdheart

              You mumble, your head burps nonsense, words a river of babble-rousing slippitude – lids close like Viked pythonic lips. You don’t see me, fingers flexed, lusting. You’ll never open your eyes…again.               Thank you. We’ll be in touch.               he tucked his tail and scrabbled into the hall, past rows of dudes disarmingly like him, cigarette sparked…

Saxy Beast

He left early – packed while she was at work, as agreed; moved boxes to an unknown locale. She pretended not to care. One last night spent lounging on wine-stained shag (the couch was his), takeout phở and arguing the viability of his thesis, aka the usual. She slept in bed and him on the…

In the Bag

She lived in a dented silver trailer, bubble to indifferent fingers – hadn’t had a visitor in months, maybe years. Inside was no better: dishes, laundry, lasagna stains; she never cleaned, didn’t care. So, when her trailer door rattled, she was surprised. Hullo? she called, rolling to her side, crankling beer cans and empty chip…