by Ace Boggess
Inmate Buck Berk ran the buffer for an hour before it bumped a chair and the snake leapt out at him. Well, it didn’t so much leap as wobble, its insignificant head slicing the air in a down-up motion more like a woodpecker’s. It bounced a dozen times, then stilled. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Ace Boggess
He seemed reserved, inward,
too calm for the cloak
of frenzy his reputation wore. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Ace Boggess
they’re making a movie about my childhood basement
Hollywood producers overcome by all the monsters there
fire-eyed slobbering winged-like-flies arising from everywhere
as with heroes fighting in their blanket capes
Filed under Poetry
