Tagged most shared

Impatient

A virgin, I carry an empty: an accumulation of space. A sign around my neck: the core of my body is an untouched baby’s crib. I incubate something else, a sputtering leak drips: rainwater hitting the roof of my mouth. A kerosene pool swells, overflowing the crib. When I hold my breath, I hear it…

Dermatophagia

I’ve been eating the skin off my hands for as long as I can remember; all-purpose tools, obedient pets, hot and shining when I unwrap them I dip my tongue into the new pink pool of skin my teeth left behind, smooth, fresh; fingerprint broken, I could be unknowable, though I know better than ever…

nothing

what does it mean to stroll down cobbled roads with processed words to have money then lose it to have friends lovers exes cousins aunts grandparents mothers fathers and then lose them like losing the change from a tenner after buying a pack of cigarettes to have recycled friends recycled lovers recycled thoughts time is…

Frank’s Reviews

Frank P. Belcher had for very long been feeling small and unimportant in a world that had become big and overwhelming. It began as a way to chime in and have his voice heard, to offer insight to others about all sorts of products and services without actually having to interact with people up close…

The Romance of Ruins

One stormy Friday morning in a still wintry Milan, while Tony grated his rusty Alfa Romeo into first gear and pulled away from the curb, Clelia bit her lip. Why had she agreed to go to the park with this virtual stranger? It was sure to be deserted. “So, you really liked my blog posts?”…

Calamine’s Tree

She lived in a dented silver trailer. The trailer had been silver when she moved in: it had not been dented. The trailer stood alone in a clearing in the woods, after she’d driven it there herself a few months back, and it had a small awning and window sill. It was the kind of…

Anonymity and Pleasure

They were dancing, he was sure of that, dancing around a Knightsbridge traffic island. The man on the 137 double-decker continued to reminisce as the bus moved another agonizing inch along Oxford Street in the pre-Christmas traffic, the floor-mounted heaters blowing gratefully received hot air over the man’s feet. An hour had elapsed since the…

Unplugged

I’ve been clogged for some time now, but I’m used to being filled, so it’s not a big deal. And any time room presents itself, I fill up the space. That’s what’s great about it: It can be filled with almost anything: laughs, anger, food—like I said, almost anything. But lately the space feels like…

Dear Dissolution

The thin glass of the old window is vibrating with wing flutter from the snarled nest of Christmas trimming and dry weed wedged above the frame. Dutiful comings and goings are transmitting these small shock waves. Mornings I return to the wadded tangles of my fears lit by the same light. It seems as though…

Emotional Eating

~ 1. My mother insisted egg beaters were better. I insisted whisks were better. “You can’t beat the eggs enough with a whisk.” “You overbeat them with an egg beater.”   ~ 2. Dark of night all asleep but me heating a skillet on low calming monkey mind while quietly whisking eggs stirring them gently…