Morpheme Tales



I Flossed: The Story Of Watergourd Bacon and His Quest For A Single Second


What Ebenezer Told Me Afterward

Skunks are here, living, breathing, like carps tossed by the red hot-bucket into wind tunnels. Is that what you were asking? Was the Pope or other like-minded ecclesiastical authority, small red leather disk noggin-top, three sheets to the wind on an arc of hand sugar? Or was that absolute boggle-de-terre, sil-vous-plait? Mais oui de er ikke mye venn du weißt worüber ich spreche aunque, yo tomo la gracia de las tiendas en los ojos: Skippy comes, he is pure fire.Continue reading “Morpheme Tales”

A New “Morpheme Tales” Has Come


Morpheme Tales


I Am The Antonioni Of Films

In the cream-colored apartment building at Olive and Denny, the anxious but xenophobic stagehand, skewered the actress from Tblisi on the chopping block as she chopped up cabbage and doorstops. It was as awkward fan and as anxious as anything he did in the city. He left it shortly thereafter, complaining about the flan, which always came in sideways off the sound, shot, or so he always claimed, by post-prandial clams armed with slingshots. That’s got your name on it.

In Panmunjon, ring-tailed lemurs use a 19th century screw-plate clothing press to squeeze the juice out of slacks. Continue reading “A New “Morpheme Tales” Has Come”