little green fingers
spring through the soil, hoping
to rip down winter.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
25 word stories of dubious goodness
He was mocked by her cherry red Popsicle mouth for only having a nickel. Sitting curbside, sucking hot cinnamon from a toothpick, he hated her.
****
His intentions were good, but mental illness fucked his berries. Just ask the stain. It would take an expert to figure out what she didn't.
****
When he showed her his plan for The Perfect House, it included no room for her. They stopped taking silly quizes. She relented. She's homeless.
****
Maggie thought Reginold was amazing. She hated that his friends remembered him as the guy who puked in his hat and put it back on.
****
He awoke once again, in a diaper, with a rash and shameful hangover, and could finally admit he was the adult baby of an alcoholic.
****
Horrified my family would allow Grandma to lay her head on a dead maggoty horse, I sped off in my rocket car to the bathroom.
****
They made smooth from rough, over time shuffling into each other like a deck of cards. He whispered to her fingertips, “Now we play”.
****
Adelaide wished to be sensual, pliant, saturated with providence, but unlike Frida Kahlo, could never embrace or manage her uni-brow, and instead read a lot.
****
The bed sagged from a time when two fat people had once awkwardly fucked and slept. He was gone, she was thinner, the dip remained.
****
Thank you, thank you, thank you, who am I? Chain smoking, terrified, trying to recall the plot of the shit show she'd just starred in.
****
Geared up, they slipped through the sewer grate to find the under city tunnel party. They were in the cave so long bones became boring.
****
She had an emotionally nutritious sweetie, sometimes distant, sometimes inside her. His fierce grasp on some wonderful things also slipped on others. Hers did too.
****
Standing in a kitchen sunbeam, melting a tiny bit of frozen orange juice concentrate on my tongue, an entire orange grove reconstituted in my mind.
****
Horns and hips rolling, a saunter. A meander. Strings and beats. Deft hands working the sound from everything; the stones all worn smooth from dancing.
****
Over and over it would rain so they could not dig the body up. They'd have to accept that no one could win the argument.
****
The neighbors vacuumed at 3am. I thought, “CRAY-ZEEE!” Turns out, they were trying to suck up a real demon! Can you believe that shit?
****
His intentions were good, but mental illness fucked his berries. Just ask the stain. It would take an expert to figure out what she didn't.
****
When he showed her his plan for The Perfect House, it included no room for her. They stopped taking silly quizes. She relented. She's homeless.
****
Maggie thought Reginold was amazing. She hated that his friends remembered him as the guy who puked in his hat and put it back on.
****
He awoke once again, in a diaper, with a rash and shameful hangover, and could finally admit he was the adult baby of an alcoholic.
****
Horrified my family would allow Grandma to lay her head on a dead maggoty horse, I sped off in my rocket car to the bathroom.
****
They made smooth from rough, over time shuffling into each other like a deck of cards. He whispered to her fingertips, “Now we play”.
****
Adelaide wished to be sensual, pliant, saturated with providence, but unlike Frida Kahlo, could never embrace or manage her uni-brow, and instead read a lot.
****
The bed sagged from a time when two fat people had once awkwardly fucked and slept. He was gone, she was thinner, the dip remained.
****
Thank you, thank you, thank you, who am I? Chain smoking, terrified, trying to recall the plot of the shit show she'd just starred in.
****
Geared up, they slipped through the sewer grate to find the under city tunnel party. They were in the cave so long bones became boring.
****
She had an emotionally nutritious sweetie, sometimes distant, sometimes inside her. His fierce grasp on some wonderful things also slipped on others. Hers did too.
****
Standing in a kitchen sunbeam, melting a tiny bit of frozen orange juice concentrate on my tongue, an entire orange grove reconstituted in my mind.
****
Horns and hips rolling, a saunter. A meander. Strings and beats. Deft hands working the sound from everything; the stones all worn smooth from dancing.
****
Over and over it would rain so they could not dig the body up. They'd have to accept that no one could win the argument.
****
The neighbors vacuumed at 3am. I thought, “CRAY-ZEEE!” Turns out, they were trying to suck up a real demon! Can you believe that shit?
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