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I gave birth to a knife

Prompt: Write a poem or short story with a striking image as the title. I gave birth to a knife The doctors had to use a whole extra spool of thread to stitch me back up. The knife didn’t cry, just shivered, wrapped up like a burrito in a blue cotton blanket. Weighed...

Fridging Mothers

Prompt: Write your own fictional business venture or entrepreneurial endeavour. Treat it like a quick overview on Shark Tank or an elevator pitch with a stranger. Keep it to a sentence if you can, but (as always) expand if necessary. Fridging Mothers I have this...

The Seahorse

Prompt: Write a poem or short story beginning with a seemingly straightforward sentence that, fittingly, makes little sense The Seahorse I met Lewis when he was a seahorse. God couldn’t make him an Eve out of his ribs; he had no ribs. But Lewis eventually blessed the...

Tell It to the Yappy Neighbor Dogs

TELL IT TO THE YAPPY NEIGHBOR DOGS I watch my father at the fence-line tenderly attend to the dogs next door. It’s curious because they’re usually non-stop pitched ballistic, driving everyone and everything away. Penny, hulking and deeply bellowed, would go at them in...

obituary

Obituary: Sisters, an artless, sideways list poem   Co-opted familial narratives, blood shares, habits and Band-Aids,  Facebook fuck-offs; shallow.

Going to Reseda on the 405

Under justin-bieber-haircuts, they giggle like the bachelorette, bouncing, swaying to Bananarama, covering their mouths with hands that were unable to keep him away. ~ At the Arcade, they watch videos of cops chasing criminals with weapons while playing video games...

Seven Professions

Pigment Eaters They feast on indigo. For dessert it’s Kafka and ozone. Their autopsies reveal dusk, orchards, chimneys, lichen, silk.   Apothecary Society Their prayer: each syringe teaches us to sleep. They gibberish the wind with Ambien, the light of...

obit

Obituary for Larry   Not drugs, but the prioritizing of them over food; malnutrition—ironic ending, after decades with hepatitis, backyard shootings, and drunken accidents—none of the expected deaths—he lingered, languished, ghost in flesh, and, oh those ruined...

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