PARROT IN A PIRATE’S HAT by Mark Cunningham

Offering 43 is now available: Parrot in a Pirate’s Hat by Mark Cunningham.



The corn cob holders looked like little cobs of corn.  I was suspicious of tampering because the new plastic didn’t come wrapped in plastic.  Charlie Brown doesn’t have a belly button.  She pointed out that “know” and “no” are pronounced the same.  If You Can Read This, You Are Too Close.


The 25th offering from Ten Pages Press is now available: The Penalty for Trying by Howie Good.




Why dance cheek to cheek to Sinatra? We could be prowling the Metro, students of the gypsy pickpockets of Paris, or picking the wild raspberries out back that proclaim the importance of being plump and red and dangly.



Everything we started together is unfinished, perhaps unfinishable. In unnaturally bright light, I fuss over commas, how objects connect or whether they even should. You stand in the living room and look toward the mountain. They told us when we were kids to keep away from windows in the event of attack.



You’re left with yourself, scorch marks of extraordinary complexity, after the faceless man from last night’s dream, smiling apologetically, showed up at the door with a garbled message for you, something about the walls of the forest also being in flames.

B-MOVIE by D.E. Oprava

The eleventh offering from Ten Pages Press is now available: B-Movie by D.E. Oprava.

on hold

Bakelite radio plugged into the porcelain socket, empty, a cobwebbed pull chain silent. A dim glow from the pre-transistor tube and a hum, listen:

It’s not going to get any better, not during this circumnavigation of the solar navel, or otherwise: take notes, this has import, as important as eating five portions of crudités per day, honest. This is vital, signs of the apocalypse are now called advertisements- wait for it. There, high five for the maidenhead coming in from Shanghai (they can clone anything these days) hold on, news flash: wait for it.

today, no, tomorr…
no, gravity and situations
are getting a divorce

Broken news, life and death, mostly death, affects our daily disaffection for morning cereals, serial mourning, and side orders of after-effects they say very fast at the end of adverts. Success, measured by algorithms too complex for plain happy or sad: beware, made up word, happy, also cloned with chemicals. Your patience is apprehended. Thank you.