Prose
User Rating: 5 / 5
Artavious Jackson hung up his phone with an assuring smile and leaned back in the chair in his cubicle. On his desk sat a small glass trophy with a tiny placard at the bottom of it. The trophy was triangular, somewhat of a pyramid, with its jagged tip pointing toward the dropped ceiling. Next to that sat a banana and a tuna salad sandwich.
- Details
- Written by Vangoman/ Dan Van Fleet
- Category: Prose
- Hits: 2019
A Zebu in Kong samba Africa waywardly wanders under the beautiful fur top feather trees of shaded green evening. Moonscapes rake along the night of the lion paw path trail shedding shadows of carcasses too slow for their African foes. Hooves once wild and free lay afoot along the dirt trodden trail and now align themselves to the never more. They were seduced by the hungry breath of the cats who left scratch marks on their backs like wild fingerprints. The price of freedom in this mecca of wildlife is steeper than the mountain trails of the Atlas Mountains near Morocco, and requiring the stealth and cunning observations of their locals. Like that of the careful and eloquently equipped hillside goats of Mount Cameroun who have developed an awareness of their three hundred and sixty degree acute vision for their reality, here a one eyed Cyclops would have to develop a sixth sense to stay alive.
- Details
- Written by Vangoman/ Dan Van Fleet
- Category: Prose
- Hits: 2032
Anyone can make love complicated, that’s easy. As everyone who’s been around love knows knows a romantic kiss can out burn and outlast a lifetime of monotone sex. And although its true nobody ever really wants to break a heart or have their heart broken, yet here we lay slain and all alone in this goddam Garden of Eden wondering where all of life’s shit seems to come from. It appears the only way we can be true to ourselves and still be happy is to lie to everyone else.
- Details
- Written by soi-disant
- Category: Prose
- Hits: 2078
missing link is missing still, shes somewhere in europe i assume, sleeping alone while im stuck here glayed eyes and full of mind fuck zones. will she be the bride who will be her groom. tricks with plectrums and words, guitar picks strumming till love is the word i heard. fractured fingers and crooked out neck, benign work loads that stress out the mind boggled by this girl that im wanting and trzing to impress. i love her look especiallz in that red dress.
- Details
- Written by Vangoman/ Dan Van Fleet
- Category: Prose
- Hits: 2323
Acidic rain fell again today on everyone but me and a few thousand, why am I so alone and free and so very damned happy? Why does everyone else have these falling faces like closed down small town businesses?
Subcategories
Page 11 of 75