Indie Lit's Backyard BBQ Party
I’m about to reach max saturation
Turn completely spherical
Leave a slug trail when I roll
At first it’s frightening
Feeling more and less of different intervals and levels
Then it’s exhausting and awful
Then you get used to it
Still I bet you this
One day you’re out somewhere maybe the park
You bump into someone you haven’t seen in awhile
Between the how longs and now what’s they say something
Maybe the time you puked in geography
Or marital problems
Or trees smell like antique cardboard
Shia Labeouf will play me in the biopic about my life and he’ll fucking nail it
Loitering in the cologne
section of Walgreens,
pouring every bottle of
Davidoff Cool Water
over my head,
screaming at the manager
about how unfairly I’m treated
on Goodreads
will be my rise to stardom.
Bapa
My grandpa was talking about his friend
Who he says has gone crazy and is hearing voices
He says the voices are evil and tell you to kill yourself
He says that she is on meds now
But she is not the same on the pickle ball court.
Gecko
When I had a pet gecko
It lived a happy life
I think
Until one day
When I returned to
Find the gecko had been
Eaten by the
Crickets that
Were supposed to
Be its food.
The Logger’s Daughter
The logger longed for a daughter and when his daughter arrived he was crushed by a truck, stuck between tree and spleen. The daughter remembers nothing of her logger father but her hands do not dance around a saw.
When the War Formed
When the war formed in our corner of the room we moved to another corner of the room. We’re safe here, we said to each other, eyeing the corner with the war. When the war found us in our new corner we stepped out of the window and took to the roof. We could hear the war below us, fighting and writhing, such muffled exhaust. We’re safe here, we said to each other, our dying phones ringing with pleas.
Coal
It was a long line to the coal mine so we left early and arrived late. The animals inside of the mine were praying or they were dead. We will try again and again.
Benjamin Niespodziany is a Pushcart Prize nominee and Best Microfiction nominee. He has been featured in the Wigleaf Top 50 and has had work appear in Hobart, Maudlin House, X-R-A-Y, Screaming into a Horse’s Mouth, and various others. He works nights in a library in Chicago.
IF DELILLO HAD A HORSE THAT WAS INTELLIGENT AND THE HORSE HAD THUMBS AND WROTE BESIDE DELILO> IF DELOILO TOAGHT THE HORSE HOW TO WRITE ID BE THE HORSE
IM DELILLOS HORSE. WATCH ME WRITE.
IF DELILLO HAD A HORSE INSIDE A VACUUM WITH NO AIR OR MATTER ID WRITE IN THE VACUUM. THROUGH THE VACUUM DELILLO CARED ABOUT MY IMPROVEMENT. I AM HIS HORSE. I AM DON’S PRIDE AND JOY.
Continue reading “I’M DONE DELLILO by Marston Hefner”
When you roughed up the snake charmer
you forgot about the snake
and got bit.
Don’t worry I will bring a hammer.
When I get there I will bring the hammer down.
For now keep one eye on the snake and
one eye on your swelling venom filled blood vessels.
Today started with such up-tempo preparation
drinking coffee standing up
thinking you could walk into anywhere
and talk them into hiring you full time,
thinking you were headed towards an X marked
treasure chest.
Soon after, the day revealed its
inability to send positive plotlines your way.
I even heard 911 left a voicemail message
word for word imitating
a voicemail message you left them
proving you are a cotton candy brain.
You’ve probably got soft fluffy bunnies
in your picture book.
I get bundled up indoors and go outdoors.
One week into January
I am disintegrated and reconstructed
into a bag of frozen vegetables.
I cartwheel over moving traffic headed your way.
When I get there you are dead and
the snake is gone.
The charmer sees the snake in his dreams.
& i’m the michael jordan of shooting
james bond in the stomach a dozen times
you can’t even handle a pork hammer sandwich
we didn’t come to america for the christmas
brisket that drips off the bone like spoiled ice cream
because i’m the winnie-the-pooh of eating pussy
you’re the annie oakley of watching me eat pussy
you’re the harriet tubman of doing heroin
Mostly we are waiting
For whatever crumb
From the table of grief
Has lodged itself into tonight’s parade
Of mashing buttons and gnashing teeth
To name itself then disappear
I get the sticky controller
That Mac spilled a Natty on in August
And am stuck jumping the whole game
But still beat Chris
Who’s almost a year behind in practice
And refuses to choose any character but random
Pittsburgh
I’m high as balls
and my cousin is doing 90
around the f-zero highways
I’m a little worried cuz
he’s really ripping the pen but
His tolerance is way
higher than mine which
also worries me but
in a way less immediate
way
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