Friday, September 18, 2026

Three Poems by Daniel J Flosi

machine operating lLuddite
throwing stones
into and ouyt of loom
crosswind tailspin
luring too loose to solve
the appealing appeal
of mixing after quaalude
limited liability gospel
mostly exposed




I won’t
tell you
not to
want to
suck the
face dry
sycophantic
influence
junky
murmur
seeks to
seek more
filler




we who descend from
the Mayflower

puritan goodness
likelihoof to delight
w/ tempatation
towards then
dances tightly exposed
copies of a graft and burn/
algo railroaded
hostages
fundamentally speaking
feverishly humored
like walking backwords

fond of the fondled
man as relative stripped
of any real potency

a life of its own


Sunday, September 13, 2026

open to distortions, fractures, and jumps by Joshua Martin

 

what functions across shallow rAdAr jackets

              [scanning spLEEnS puzzle over earlobes

                assured of conduct unprovoked by

                anthill conspiracies of combative gestures]:

/ : heath, sullen conquering wisps

     gloomy in all dwindling castles

     pouring ribboned pubic lice

     onto warped textbook innuendo = / => => =>

                                                       oUt oF wOrK

                                                       cAdAvEr

                                                       shopping beneath

                                                             errands jointly

                                                             combustible (as

tones reek of out of state dioramas

pulled ALONG coastal jump rope Romeos

disinclined to speculations or specifics) =>

                             \ ;

            ‘didn’t this orb of lessons

             simulate an earthquake

             teasing a thermometer?’

                       the question was asked

                       with an ear to the lightbulb

                       affidavit = / dressed as

                                              a swooning

                                              avalanche

                                              basking in

                                              the blinding

                                              RaYs oF

                                              incognito

                                              insecticide       /

: : : : [dense

                   ly ascertained sheets

                   the envy of toilet

                                            WATER

                                             shiver

                                                      ing

                                                            SPURS] : : : :

. . . . .

        leased wavelengths fear travel

                                                         . . . . .

               )backwards echoing

                         AFFECTATIONS(

                                     . . . / - - - BoLdly

                                       & severely 

                   misshaped

, as a worrisome ankle monitor

  adjusted fanciful orifices , , , , , , , , , , =>

                                                           dUsT

                                                           tO

                                                           BeNt

                                                           hippie

                                                           fissures <=

]daunted (sensed?) the formulaic

 tonsils (motions?) regarding eras

 as worthless distinctions without a

             SYSTEM

                             [

 

Thursday, September 3, 2026

Between stormthunders twelve and thirteen by Jim Meirose

 

Stormthunder twelve sounds, then.

LumpenSchtickle PantZip, master of keys and ZornSchnuckler the Moon-Man Quasi-Big-Boy, are the chief culprits today spout our supersneaky spies. Tannenbaum, oh Tannenbaum, how germanesqui is thy root-ball. Only the sweetest peas can roll the distance.  Carrots sliced thusly have no hope at all. Rent the attic now, kind servant; the need for quick money is dire. No painting please the thick mud will render it useless. Shrink us immediately, God—the need to appear as small as possible has finally arrived. We’ll risk the last wish my young Genie. Let us enunciate it as clearly as we know; but first we must rub our lamps some you know. Bodily functions yah yah bodily functions, yes we know—there now we are ready. Throw us some towels please first, though. Thanks a lot boy; yah man yo’ welcome. Oh we often tell ourselves this that and the other. God made us suchwise you know. He went to school is over twenty-one and reads and writes quite deftly—he’s been with James Brown and other groups, and he knows. Never trust a fully-grown man. Less so even when they’rer seventy. Feeling wildly sane yet brother? You don’t look so bad. Here’s another.

Stormthunder thirteen sounds, then.

Sunday, July 19, 2026

“Bud Haefner” by Jim Meirose

 

...but, HEY! [Bud’t Haefner “Bud Haefner” Bud buddy-buddy-buddy “Bud Haefner” the Barber /an so ere’s Nan Dipmortment’s m’porterent story bomb//and so, ya see—[pay some damned himtention eh you may learn something !!!  J. (which one’s snot ‘mportant) ee was getting a “haircut” from “Bud Haefner” in buzz-curley style (‘e hoped as damned loved those ‘toogies, those damned-downed silly ‘toogies) and it was maybe “33”% oops! Sorry! No, WAIT!

                        Yes     WAIT!

Hear out the following complaint against you:

That number up there should have been written this way = “33%” see now the meaning’s very very clear – but you know ‘e really got to get to the bottom of this. Did you deliberately separate the “33” from the “%” and thereby deprive both items of all meaningful identity? Did you—deliberately manipulate that text to distract the reader’s attention, and waste as much as possible of the reader’s time? If so, did  you do this to prevent the reader from proceeding on and reading something whose content would point back to you and your secret history of even more terrible crimes?   ---  never mind   sorry    back to the intended agenda “whatever that is” [dear God shut up already okay? Okay!!

                                                               Done!

                        So!                                   but report back to here at the end of your story to be taken for further investigation and possible punishment for that “33%” infraction which is the name under which this casee will be docketed      okay?                                      Yes!     so proceed on out own recognizance   . . .

Thank you judge

     So, anyway—that percentage of the “Bud Haefner” haircut only got done, when, dear God no a big far-off horn shot-blared all superloud, and “Bud Haefner” ran off to do some-kind’s “Vulontraleerienne Fyre-Frighting” (of which ‘e ‘lso ‘ppened to be the Chief, oh, whap, and so ‘e sat there, nearly half done in the chair only, and, Whap! the unknown blank cipher-cutter over next-chair said, “well, kid, Ey I will finish you.” but but but NO! “Bud Haefner” is my barber!

                                  I will have no barber but “Bud”!

            Hokay                                                                             hokeydoke!

And, so, ‘e sat hour, after hour, //   As “Bud Haefner” + force fought a fire to the finish elsewhere, // ones ‘n’ others came/went and came/went and came and came and came and went and went o’ hour after hour until—here came back “Bud Haefner” stenching of smoke, and, when ‘e saw, e’ flung up, and flipped down, flung down ‘is hat ‘ard as humanly possible!!!    . And what happened then J. really don’t know, won’t know, don’t wanna know, no don’t    ,kdnnme  dk,s  e4nbu     /// so anyway—I do not think I can say I have ever been o’er sides this spot off the neighborhood                            can you?

                                           no-most probably not,                                          but

so that’s the whole story not much, hey-la pupa

                                     Okay judge, I’m done here I am --                             

                                                                           do what you will with me I am all yours