More in this series
The Agoraphobe’s House
She drank a bottle of poison. It must have been household cleaner. His poem doesn’t specify.
’twas. It goes on and on about the land and fraternity. O woe the ranked lines, their verbs reversed, thought I. Those archaic words, marshaled into antiquated forms, stank and sagged like a box of school records stored in a basement. The migraine that had been plaguing me lately let loose a tentacle, tightening muscles around my eye at the thought of reading those poems. I imagined the boredom and loneliness that would lead me to open the agoraphobe’s book. Names of foreign cities and Greek heroes spilled out. The dull, gray state I had begun in amplified, the clackety rhythm and persistent end rhymes purling off the pages, trailing fumes of headache and irrelevance. Even the agoraphobe’s name repelled me, so square and white and colonial and gone: William Ellery Leonard.
State Journal
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More in this series
Larger Than the Sea
Look, Seo-Yun said, and went to the girl. This is why you must run.
Sleepy Things
Tony had only gone on, like, seven dates with Josefín and the jodona was already lounging on Magdalena’s couch.
Big Fan
Of course Tinsley knew Mia’s book launch was on Thursday. No one could talk about anything else online all weekend, but she hadn’t dared to picture herself actually there.