Welcome, one and all, to the December issue of Defenestration! It’s late. I know it’s late, you know it’s late, Eileen knows it’s late, Genevieve knows it’s late, Bigfoot knows it’s late, the Elm Tree knows it’s late, that old guy sitting outside your bedroom throwing birdseed at your window and humming Abba songs knows
[continue reading…]
Ridiculously unimpressed Yawning with his eyes as I Adorn the night with slurred syllables and my Noxious black smoke that he says smells like Christmas trees burning.
Roadkill Poem By Chris Major ———– Chris Major doesn’t want you to know anything about him because his bones are made of secrets and his muscles are made of enigmas and his skin is made out of interlocking puzzle pieces that sweat. He wants you to go here: http://whyvandalism.com/
“You have to do it Joanne. What are you a prude?” asked Corey H. Yes. “No.” So she stood defiantly, knees wobbling slightly, nine sets of eyes pasted to her. Grabbing Tim’s arm she yanked him up. “Oooooh” cooed the thirteen year olds. “I knew it” whispered Corey R. Lindsay Snow frowned deeply. Joanne cleared
[continue reading…]
The day my brother found a tortoise, we decided to start a zoo. One night, while kicking a soccer ball, my brother shrieked, A turtle! I ran out. A tortoise, I corrected him; turtles stay in the water. My brother, age a mere six years, was more ardent than wise. I, two years his senior,
[continue reading…]