Prose
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- Written by: el socialisto
- Category: Prose
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“Chingate!” was shouted after the violent opening & slamming of the door. It was shouted before the subsequent opening & crashing of the door. He used the front door to the neighborhood – he followed directions.
That is the address of mother to 7 year old son.
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- Written by: Dr.Dopamine
- Category: Prose
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He sat writing at his desk that late February night. Fueled by the smoke of his burning generation he let what felt like his last words ooze onto paper.
"The aliens are here.
"Oh God. Where the fuck is my SKS?"
Today is Father’s Day. I don’t expect to hear from either of the kids. It’s not that they would intentionally choose not to call. It’s just not the kind of thing they’d ordinarily think to do. Maybe later in the week my daughter will call and apologize for forgetting. I’ll tell her not to worry.
The chocolate sat in the middle of the table a sugared dune burned brown by a dusting of cocoa. The human voices – pealing honeyed larynxes had melted and the sun was in a half bow staring intently over at the moon longing to seduce each chasmal dip but content for now to set the crescent on fire, at least on reflection.
Read more: The First Chocolate
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- Written by: musicara49
- Category: Prose
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a boy in a man's coat sings to his lover
mild melodies of stories once lived by another
he lies in balboa with a clock in his pocket
and a vice 'or his crown he's afraid to be caught in
for the routine of his selfish life
Read more: The Master of Self Pity
