Untitled Limerick A message arrives via media, Inducing immediate tedia. Don’t take it as such, For who knows how much Subliminal media fedia? Poetry Deadline You’ve a deadline to meet but your mind is replete with all manner of secular notions, And your editor swears that there’s no one who dares to reject all his
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In Hell it is always the holidays. The cheer-drone of Christmas music Jing jing jingles through the overstocked Dust pungent grocery aisles. The bagel store is always out of whole wheat, The lunch specials always ended an hour ago, And rain sounds like an Alabama radio show. And there is coffee dripping down the side
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“You’ll never make anything of yourself, Brian Boggis.” That’s what my old teacher used to tell me – which always felt a bit strange as my name’s Brian Pollock. Still, I’m sure he meant well. But you know what? I think I’m about to prove him wrong. I’m writing a novel. A thriller. They say
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I’m beginning to have this uncomfortable feeling that I’ve been cheating on my wife. It began a couple of months with a website offering information on “how to catch a cheating spouse.” Harmless enough – until you read the warning signs: 1. Spouse has been hiding the cell phone or ducking into another room to
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As soon as that nice young man dug me up and stole my diamond rings, I knew something was wrong. It wasn’t just that I’d been placed in a narrow coffin and dropped into the murky abyss of the earth, or that all my blood had been pumped out and replaced with embalming fluid, or
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