…faded the leaves of living memory.
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020
The bed was rocking hard. It wasn’t, however, for the usual reasons.
Sure, the springs were making that tell-tale rusty sound—the kind that typically accompanies sex—but the neighbours weren’t having sex.
Are you curious as to how I know about their private life? Do you fancy me a pervert who sneaks into people’s homes, poking a hungry eye through bedroom keyholes? Please! I’m not so unsophisticated. I have tiny Buddhas embedded everywhere, and that’s why I’m able to track my neighbours’ every movement.
Anyway, they weren’t having sex, and I’m sure my publisher will find this information useful.
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020
Our Dearest Readers,
Who are we to stand in the way of progress? Yes, this poem seems to be very much progressing in a certain direction. We don’t quite know where it will end up, but at least it’s moving forward…
Still, this scares us a little. We were determined to complete the poem with today’s post, but it looks like it has other plans about its existence, and doesn’t want to be completed now. The poem has taken on a life of its own! Oh, freaking my!
Perhaps we could blame Munira Ezzi for this turn of events. It is, after all, the second contribution of hers to make it into our communal masterpiece. This is something that has never happened before! We cannot predict how this is going to end now, so strap yourselves in, Dearest Readers. It’s about to get bumpy!
So, anyway, it’s with trembling voices that we remind you of the following rules:
1) Read the current version of this communal poem below, and shake in your boots at all the different directions it could go. Then submit your own line or two for our consideration.
2) If we like your line (or two) the most, we’ll add it to this runaway railcar of a poem, and publish it in a follow-up post.
3) And so finally the whole process of submission and rejection will be done, and we’ll have the conclusion to this terrifying monstrosity!
hm, what should I draw?
maybe a hairy monster with a furry claw
or a demon crow that sticks in the craw
or a huge bloodstained saw
hm, what should I write?
maybe a slow growl will stir up a fright
or a girl will be twirled by a meat-eating kite
or grandma pole-dances in a bikini too tight
hm, what is that?
the words have disappeared, the pictures aren’t flat
they’ve come to life like a cockroach cravat
crawling helter-skelter ’til i scream like a prat
by TETIANA ALEKSINA, TONY SINGLE, TOMAS MANKUS & MUNIRA EZZI
© All rights reserved 2020
I was the Walrus
who fought with the Carpenter.
(His workmanship sucked.)
But I should have held my tongue
—he turned me into oyster!
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020