"Be not afraid," it says, wings unfurling. Father Santiago vomits blood at the sight. He knows, now, why angels always say that.
"Be not afraid," it says, wings unfurling. Father Santiago vomits blood at the sight. He knows, now, why angels always say that.
You can hear it nightly. In the flat over the arcade, a dwarf plays sad plastic kazoo nocturnes to a crumpled photo of her.
Little Dead Wolf-Head Hood walks to grandma's house, stained axe in hand. Nobody calls her by her old name. Not anymore.
Emote. Cold text. Webcam. Wooing shadows. $14.95 a month. Carpal tunnel is a lonely STD and love is a cemetery where he buries his seed.
Dying, he sold his soul to buy protection for his infant. She coos, suckling on my claw. I smile, not sure who conned whom.
Dreamtime over snake bones. Lights. Truckstops. I offered a drag. He passed, said there's ghosts in the smoke. They were gaining on us.
Wanted a prince. Kissed a frog. Transformation. Consummation. I can feel our thousand young grow under the mucous-slick of my new body.
Exiled for not choosing sides, he roams hospitals, watches kids flatline to glimpse Home opening for their tiny souls.
"Don't worry, where you hang your head is home," said the hungry crow to the thief dangling from the tree.
the Night Owl devours
the Early Bird before dawn
and thus saves the Worm