Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Cole Mohr and I stare into the cake, fully clothed. Does he even eat anymore?
"I can't wait to get into this," says Cole Mohr.
"But, I need some music to put me into the mood."
I put on some Melt-Banana and his eyes fire outwards. He takes off his shirt. I wish I were Japanese.
I ask him about his tattoo, but he's still staring at the cake. The icing has melted slightly over the course of the past two hours, so the pink and white have begun to mesh.
I slide a knife through the cake and offer him a piece. Quietly, Cole Mohr slips one skinny finger over the icing. He's shivering. He places the finger in his mouth.
"Oh my god." At this point his eyes are closed, and his face explodes into tics. He opens them curtly and jogs to the bathroom.
I follow him in and find the floor covered in red thread. His throat expands with every propulsion. Skin straps tighter against his ribs. His lips try to form words, but they’re stiffening, engorged. I move to the telephone to call an ambulance. I fumble the keys and give them all the wrong directions.
The thread snakes its way around my feet. I pick up one end and pull as hard as I can. The rest of the thread bundles into the hallway and Cole Mohr crawls out, panting.
I walk into the kitchen, cut the cake and place the pieces in a plastic container. Cole Mohr grabs the edge of my shirt and licks my lips. They’re white and pink.
Marcus Whale almost only writes at gloveandcradle.blogspot.com, at least until the name starts to seem lame. He lives in Sydney, Australia.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
I thought I had escaped it like a missed call from a telemarketer
who tells me that my car insurance expired yesterday and Oh My, Excuse Me, Ma’am,
if You Don’t Renew Your Car Insurance With Us Right Away You Might Lose Your
License to Drive
but I hadn’t missed his call, I answered on accident and now I have to go back
and relive it all all all all over again.
I couldn’t say it for a few months after, I only said grapes. now, when I eat grapes, I
think about it.
Lina McCausland sent this poem in under an alias. She has no bio.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
I sit and eat candy that tastes like old books
Honest to God
They’re Russell Stover
That I like to crunch
While sitting with the Internet
Looking at pictures of
Raymond Carver’s grave
Maury Feinsilber's work has appeared in The Missouri Review. He lives in Brooklyn, USA
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Shanghai Dawn has new eyes
brightest bulbs are breaking open
In prying yellow lines
Shanghai Dawn a heavy sun
moves marching feet through open gates
In hurried blurring runs
Shanghai Dawn has stories left to Tell
from far off homes we wash ashore
As scattered shattered shells
Ben-Darrow Goodman is from Delray Beach, Florida, born in Philadelphia. He currently likes moondogs, dubstep, and dads.
Monday, September 7, 2009
planet dad press accepts manuscripts year-round right now
we ask that they be 16-30 pages in length
see the parents, people, presses and mags we like for the kind of material we're interested in
the daily dad tries to publish short/flash fiction or poetry daily or something
there aren't really any guidelines
email firstname.lastname@example.org with "_________ submission" (either planet dad press or the daily dad) as the subject line, then if you are submitting to planet dad please attach your submission in either a .doc or .rtf format, and if you are submitting to the daily dad please paste your submission in the body of your submission