David O'Connor

MY FAVE FIVE- APRIL 2021

April 2021 Series Curator: Jonathan Cardew April Selector: Minyoung Lee What’s rare, what’s bright, what’s new? This is what we ask a new writer every month in search of the best hybrid, poetry, and flash writing from the previous month. In this edition, we catch up...

My Fave Five- March 2021

March 2021 Series Curator: Jonathan Cardew March Selector: Hannah Grieco What’s rare, what’s bright, what’s new? This is what we ask a new writer every month in search of the best hybrid, poetry, and flash writing from the previous month. In this edition, we catch up...

If This…

If This is a Life-threatening Emergency Please Hang Up and Dial 911 Later you’ll say, Let’s pretend this never happened. But now you grab the belt again. Buckle high and ripe. Swinging for the fences. For young skin. My step-sis. My step-brother. Splatter of blood...

Telepath

Telepath I asked for a 3000-word essay on self-sabotage in the style of David Foster Wallace. Before clicking return, a Charles Simic poem filled the screen. The screen is the mind but faster and more desperate to succeed. Okay, Bot, give me a novel starring the last...

My Buzzing Vagina

shocks my nipples erect rhythmic pains pull and release pull and release marionette strings shake metronome stops mid-beat   (hare)y insect births its way out of my silenced womb releases the elf man I’ve held captive strings hold them tight   mosaic pillow...

Unshriven

Opium nights in a broken mansion like tokens of despair, gray moss hangs off the pin oak, shuddering in shadowed air, I’m there. The shimmered moon spirals through the human universe. Night of watered air, gardenia perfumed, stars fuzz in the blue-black sky. I sit on...

Bloodsongs

American Anger For dinner they served burning midnight, cavesongs. The general stoked our tumors. We touched stillborns, strangled dresses. We sang lullabies to x-rays. The coroner’s daughter showed us the wired dark, gold mines, nightingales. The Coroner’s Daughter...

song of the river cane

may these bones dressed in danceless flesh finally settle into that good earth let me shed self-imposed shackles & strut —how that eternal dance floor gets more crowded every day see me solo waltzing, at long last, to a song i didn’t know i knew so crass it...

spaghetti

Spaghetti season, he said with a sigh. We heard it underfoot. You couldn’t tell if it was communicating with the others or just sobbing. Occasionally Big Jon would stir it with a giant hook, forming glistening piles near the path. On the shadow spaghetti coasts it's...

Incognito

This month, I tried to use as many elements as possible from the prompts, including starting with one of the first sentence ideas.            They say sickness comes from my back teeth holding mud in its trenches. Really it comes from golf balls clogging up my open...

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