She’s going forgetful again. Her makeover brain denies your false narratives. She’s going to have quail, juniper berries, and pumpkin flesh for lunch. Some dandy Soho restaurant that can’t pay its rent, and offers a tasty new fungus dessert. Where the second to last mayor took off his clothes to make a splash. Her new lover talks to himself because she says so. You tempt her into staying, tell her the two of you could build pyramids with whipped cream. Make love like ancient Egyptians. Bury the evidence. After this morning’s dream of waking up alone, you taste feathers on your tongue. Your brain tickles.
division by 0
“why not believe” say the ghosts
you had for breakfast
writing has been published in Sonic Boom, Deracine, Cherry Tree, and elsewhere. He loves ’60s garage bands and ’50s sci-fi movies. Find more of his poetry, plus flash fiction and photography, at his blog:
DogPunk & Psychedelic Stinky Cat
⚡ Freakbeat, microfiction by Hemmings in Issue 3 of MacQ (May 2020); subsequently selected for publication in The Best Small Fictions 2021 anthology