Spooky Boyfriend #5
Cracked nut, in the abalone house, the ear shell where I counted sand, there was an incident with a needled bird wing. This adheres to a sutured feeling, the kind of stuttering the girl has taken up since the boy refuses to return her calls.                                         /              There wan an incident where we swallowed antiseptic and hoodwinked. Later, we were taken away with the furniture.

          /          I adopt the sun as ball. I want to request a nearer object, a syllable that
                     looks like heat. I should think  you'd be eager to cooperate.                                    /

Kristen Orser's nose is running. She is trying her hardest to sit still.  She is the author of Folded Into Your Midwestern Thunderstorm (Greying Ghost Press); Squint (Dancing Girl Press); Winter, Another Wall (blossombones); Wilted Things (Scantily Clad Press); and E AT I (Wyrd Tree Press).  If you see her, offer her a tissue.

"I have been thinking of spooky things and that, in itself, became spooky.  Recently, I killed a spider.  It's not uncommon for me to do this even though I try to pretend a more Buddha-like presence.  The spooky thing is, the spider was intertwined with another spider, but that spider was dead.  It was, I think, a case of necrophilia.  I can't be certain of this, but do you have a better explanation?"