Micro Anything Text Only

  • The Cat

    by Johanna Haas

    The cat climbed
    the basement stairs
    with a blue tail hanging
    from his mouth.

  • Prefixes

    by Mona Mehas

    Take the word, progress
    Pro is a prefix
    The opposite of pro is con
    So, the opposite of progress is Congress

  • Fountain

    by Mona Mehas

    A fountain by any other name
    is Marcel’s urinal
    Duchamp’s latrine
    baby boy’s potty
    old man’s throne
    drunkard’s pisser
    European’s loo
    every man’s can.
    Begs the question, what is art?

  • Reticence

    by Charles J. March III

    “San Onofre”

    He made hookers steal snooker tables, and his whole body had a toothache.

    “Original Nothing”

    Always on to something.

    “Not Lost on Me”

    She drank Baja blasts with Bradley Hexagon and the electric god humanoid design.


    A couples retreat in Mexico comprised of a Nazi, a Jewish man, and two Hispanic women on either side of the social spectrum, conducted by a Harvard grad, Protestant, Trump supporting immigration reformer.

    “COM 101”

    How to respond when fuckbois say “Bet.”

    “Nursing Homes”

    Continental army of incontinence, which we depend on for freedom.

  • who’s the mutt now?

    “For more than a century, the art world has celebrated Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain. His work, simply a urinal signed and dated “R Mutt 1917”, is widely regarded as a pinnacle of 20th-century art, with a replica on display in Tate Modern, London. For some, Duchamp is the father of conceptualism, the so-called art of ideas. For others, he is a charlatan responsible for the demise of traditional artistry…”

    is Marcel Duchamp’s greatest work a fake?

  • gristl’d gr’ease

    by Saint Peter

    don’t ’bout your wings
    or fancy flight
    kn’own are your teeth
    tear’n unto meat
    gristl’d gr’ease
    sour slime
    white sinew

    don’t ‘ppoint woo
    woo wan’t bite
    wan’ step shit
    of brok’d dreams
    ooz’ed hay
    fleck’n grief
    b’tween toes

  • Before Dawn

    by Mona Mehas

    Lend me your rattle!
    While philosophers harvest addiction
    we foster the day,
    and work the fieldstones.
    An American night boat passes
    in the blue hour.

  • Pegasus/Centaur Confusion

    by Mona Mehas

    You rush in, rescue mode
    white horse, prancing
    hooves in the air
    ready to go
    white angel astride
    blue blood visible
    in shared veins
    wings outstretched
    facing backward.

    Why such a hurry to meet the future
    with the present unresolved?

  • It’s Forever Winter on Pluto

    by Mona Mehas

    Ice stored under ice, no snow,
    I’ve never done well on ice.
    The sound of my butt meeting solid ice.

  • untitled (elfin thyme)

    by Erwin Dink

    entropy engine
    rich people in a paper mache sub
    elfin thyme

  • i don’t want to hear it

    by a frightened boy

    i can’t hear you because
    i have a bag over my head
    a bag made of dried leaves
    and mud
    and the spittle
    from a frightened boy’s chin

  • untitled

    by Mona Mehas


    word-searched my way through
    lines around my eyes, proof
    humbled by enormity

    individual existence

  • untitled (something something toilet)

    by Erwin Dink

    archaic mullet stomped
    acclimated helm sprout
    calculated mosh permit

  • untitled (lego my ego)

    by Eric Jennings


  • tasteful words

    by Ash K. Gray

    And so I dipped my pen in sauce
    and wrote some food for thought.
    Whatever I laid down, man,
    they (?
    — — — ?) went ahead and bought.

    Little did they ( same they?
    — — — — — — — — — — ? ) know that all I did
    was dip my pen in fucking sauce and close the lid.

  • untitled cinquain

    by Mona Mehas

    Learn meaning, hope
    from message, lust assured
    Eclipse our passions, love’s dispute

  • (an Actual Physical Darkness)

    by Eric Jennings

    it makes a difference
    if you touch the ashes
    i did not touch the ashes

  • untitled (screwnail)

    by Eric Jennings

    poem found folded in a nail pickle jar screwed to the ceiling of the garage like a fortune cookie

  • December

    by Ann and Kirby Kenny

    Cold debris,
    Confectioners’ sugar,
    You are dusted white
    As a swarm of
    Albino bugs.

    Traveling soul,
    You move through the body
    As a feeling,
    And in your cabin,
    Woe remains.

  • untitled (ass cheeks torn off)

    by Erwin Dink

    eyelash of my enemy
    club twit
    a fantasy hero retiring

Got any book recommendations?