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MYKI

MYKI

By John Mason Preen those feathers, condition your government-issue leathers. Intimidating, without a doubt. Cackle and squawk like the pheasant you are, Ready to perch on every lowdem tram car. An overweight and inelegant urban bird. Repugnantly weak with a razor...
Garage Sale

Garage Sale

Let me buy your shit. Have a garage sale, let me buy everything. Sell your clothes. Sell your kids’ toys. Sell your obsolete VCRs and BetaMax players. Sell your vibrators and cock rings. Sell your wadded up cum rags. Let me buy you. I want it all, forever, to...
The Girl Who Cried

The Girl Who Cried

18. That’s it. That’s the number. That’s how many times I’ve cried myself to sleep this year. I would know, I’ve kept track. It seems morbid, quite depressing, perhaps a little sad – all of the above. 18 out of 365 doesn’t...
The House On Hunter Street

The House On Hunter Street

There is a house on Hunter Street – lot number three – that nobody talks about. They only ignore it. Casually dismiss. There is a house on Hunter Street so out of place, so very rotten and painfully obvious, that to disregard it altogether was the only sensible thing...
Ellipsis

Ellipsis

A breath is not a breath, til it brushes your tender cheek. An exhalation, nothing more. A bead of sweat is not the same, before it crashes, quivering, against your supple breast. Perspiration, nothing more. Words are useless, ineffable, until given flight from your...