short shorts

Wings of (N +7)

Two angers long for the glitter and desolation of Berlin. Hanging near its portal, they provide gratuitous commentary on distressed passersby, looking to mirror their wounds or at least stuff them with the resulting orange tufts of anonymous air. One anger, distracted...

Lunatic Nocturnes

1 Hey dreamboat, slick with night. I remember you sad, between moons, statues erased by winter. We were on the guest list for the wind. Your voice the jangle of a toy piano. This infinity of skin is made for bullets, for germs. The tiny beaks of mosquitoes. Toenails...

Fishmonger of Articulation (N+7)generated text

When she was a very young chili, five seedcakes divided into an orgy of autocrats. How much she adored their lumberjack esthetic. They used mercenary larva to compose a charade of turbulence. All lunatics aside, the mergers came freckled; short charmers every one of...

about the author

Benjamin Niespodziany is a necessary figure in the Silver Sewer Rat Scene. His recent novella, Junktella, was turned into a swamp. He'll cough up a loch water pocket watch if you talk too long or not enough. Last month, he submitted a candle to a science journal and a...

Thank You All!

Thanks for being weird with me this weekend. Feel free to pick one of the prompts, or more than one, and share whatever you like. More than happy to read two more pieces from everyone, since so many prompts are provided. I hope these kickstart something within you...

4 X Micro

CORPORATION I had an uneven corporation. So I crawled into a version of myself that was more elastic. Even fly guys fluttered a wager for a finicky media. Secretarial assistants dipped their cigarettes into broth. More and more, I sought out Simon in the cancerous...

It was (a new world record)

Two years ago I cried more than anyone on earth. Someone had to check and it took them a long time but it was true. So many walnuts fell from the tree while they were doing it but the sugar on the table stayed where it was, refused to dislodge. So the aunts naturally...

Waiting Room

Art so passively pastel, it was a complementary depression just to sit down and stare at the walls. Couches, tables, chairs, a magazine rack, and one rabid human gnarling nips of hostility at the shaky edges of my periphery. His street wrapped around my throat, my...

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