Stella

Stella longs for the unseen soul who one day will meander into her home to touch (perhaps envy) each of her precisely placed gatherings.

Thank you, dear God, above, for the patience it

has taken to assemble and position these

precious things.

Yet she feels clumsy. Sees herself as a whale in a thimble’s sea of mire.

Then comes the moment when that perfect stranger appears as her savior, but Stella is not here to celebrate the gentle man with sapphires where his blue eyes should be, pale cream velvet fingertips to tally all her particulars, then bind her estate.

From Guest Contributor The Poet Spiel

A Visit To Kafka’s Castle

Not just anyone could stay at the castle that claimed in its promotional literature to be Kafka’s birthplace. A person needed a proven reason to be there – in our case, your egg and my semen. I didn't want to rush you, but my Viagra was starting to wear off. You were seeing something no one else had ever seen when the police burst in, waving their nightsticks and demanding, “Who’s the bad man? What does he look like?” This makes everything sound worse than it was, especially as a whale in the harbor was spouting purple music the whole time.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is on the pavement, thinking about the government.

Peter And The Whale

Everywhere Peter went, the whale was lurking. It wasn't just the ocean he must avoid, but lakes and rivers as well, any body of water large enough for the whale.

Some days, Peter would stare out his window at the pond across the street. Inevitably, the whale would be staring back at him. Peter never understood what he had done to make the whale so angry, but by now he understood that nothing but his own death would quench the leviathan's thirst for vengeance.

For the rest of Peter's life, even drinking a glass of water was fraught with dread.