Rafael's Open Scribes

Wulligan pollyambled with Z from Crumpers away. The molly sheened polyangle waned neath nether teemed nor still.

I punched Frankie Muntz in the arm. "Ow!" he yelped. "That hurt!" "That real enough for you?" I snarled and left him miserably rubbing his arm. I paid for cigarettes, the real rank kind with more tar...

a synesthetic amalgam of distress syncopation in suffering fractured muted tones that tourniquets of artificially sweetened light can not displace.

how strange the girth of this worthless shirt worn by the strange earth burps how odd the shoes worn by foot rot not blot socks and what is that underneath the neck chest how strange this stranger...

the queen bee hums, the king deciphers

sunny spots on church walls walking wear and winter near too late for those shorts cold wind a haircut a toothbrush put those clothes away winter is near it's too late for those shorts time to cover...

knurled protuberance that would inflict the sort of cheer sea dogs alone on the high seas appreciated, only after Captain Kanga scoffed at the thought of protection. "My doors are wide open for any...

Rubbing my eyes vigorously, I take a good look around. Dammit if its not the McCarren Park Pool in Brooklyn. Impossible? How did I end up so far away from home? I stumble around for bit, struggling for...

" You want an antacid boss ? Those perogies we ate are killing me too," said Forty Acres as he gestured toward the Lincoln town car that had just been parked in the driveway. "Yeah, yeah, good, f*cking...

the dietary misspellings of the soul staring eyes confess on blanket sheets the moth bandits run to the hills the demons are milk and are contagious to fit the ball into the hole you'll have to switch...