bradrosepoetry.blogspot.com
Brad Rose: Mr. Wittgenstein Writes to Ms. Stein
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Poetry and Unbelievably Brief Fiction. Mr Wittgenstein Writes to Ms. Stein. I called you many times, but you didn’t answer. This has left me no alternative, but to write you now, in order to reach you by other means. Of course, it is as difficult to say precisely what one means, as it is to mean precisely what one says. Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent . What can one say about this? What can it mean to say that one must be silent? Appeared in Fall, 2012 Off the Coast. A Girl Like You.
bradrosepoetry.blogspot.com
Brad Rose: The Next Thing You Know
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Poetry and Unbelievably Brief Fiction. The Next Thing You Know. Everything, its own invention, happens eventually, although sometimes not at all: the music of fog, cannibal piñata, razor blade hula hoops. Have you noticed that if you talk about time, it slows? If you talk about love, it stops? Appeared at Camroc Press Review, 2013. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). 160;At YouTube: Ken Plans a Trip to Toys R Us . Audio: Tehachapi Seven Eleven. The Next Thing You Know. March Snow At Arlington. Boston Lite...
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Brad Rose: March Snow At Arlington
http://bradrosepoetry.blogspot.com/p/march-snow-at-arlington.html
Poetry and Unbelievably Brief Fiction. March Snow At Arlington. The slow air, snow quiet,. Salt-white flecks, descending. Into this world’s vacancy. Into the stilled mouths of the dead. I’m waiting here, for the lost,. The slumbering slain,. To storm their way home;. The sand of their desert,. The snow of their death. I see now, beneath this earth,. In its obverse darkness,. A line of children, single-file,. Each child smartly dressed,. For the first day of school. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Santa Fe Li...
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Brad Rose: A Stabbing
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Poetry and Unbelievably Brief Fiction. Changed my prints, moved eleven times, learned to blend in with the crowd. But there’s always something coming, no matter how good you get at looking over your shoulder. In my front pocket, I worry the rosary of two copper-tipped bullets. At 42. St, a man with a scar scrawled across his forehead approaches. As he nears, his fog-gray eyes meet mine. I'm dead certain I can hear him ticking. Don’t be ridiculous. I reassure myself, " bombs don’t tick. A Girl Like You.
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Heading Him Off | MDJB
https://mdjb.wordpress.com/2012/09/15/heading-him-off
Laquo; Days Before an Incident. Posted on 2012/09/15 at 9:56 pm in Fiction. 124; RSS feed. 124; Trackback URL. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Google account. ( Log Out. Day of the Dead.
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Days Before an Incident | MDJB
https://mdjb.wordpress.com/2012/07/10/days-before-an-incident
Laquo; Philip Comes of Age. 124; Heading Him Off. Days Before an Incident. She was sweet-faced, silver-haired, imperturbable, as plump fingers turned the pages of her novel every afternoon on the bus going downtown. The roughnecks would laugh a little too loud and their girlfriends would howl at most of what they said as if they were dating the world’s top comedians. Occasionally, they disturbed other passengers, but the old doll never seemed to notice. Agatha Christie or somesuch. She looked the type.
bradrosepoetry.blogspot.com
Brad Rose: Audio: A Passenger
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Poetry and Unbelievably Brief Fiction. Listen to: A Passenger. Urges prowl and posture. Digging a deeper ditch. Through your delicate frame. You are seven miles of oblivion,. Secrets too large to detect,. Darker than swallowed mountains. Nerves, a cul de sac,. Stitches jittering in a pale paradise,. Something is almost left of your heart. Without an enemy, you’d disappear. Like a list, you write yourself down. So you won’t forget. Dire candy, too many dead to remember,. Accidents don’t just happen. Brad ...
bradrosepoetry.blogspot.com
Brad Rose: Audio: Burnt Ghosts
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Poetry and Unbelievably Brief Fiction. Listen to: Burnt Ghosts. Carbon dark, invisible as fish in the rain,. What good are our tattoos? No one can see them. Disconnected phone numbers,. Who would ever call us? Frictionless, flame-smooth,. One degree above freezing,. We weigh less than ourselves. It can’t be explained. Dark matter, unseen as salt on snow. At the door, you can’t quite tell if we are coming or going. We pause for a posthumous cigarette. And watch the smoke rise in reverse,. A Girl Like You.
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Brad Rose: Pink X-Ray
http://bradrosepoetry.blogspot.com/p/pink-x-ray.html
Poetry and Unbelievably Brief Fiction. No lights on,. I know where everything is. Nevertheless, I hold my breath,. Anticipating a reeling emergency,. But it’s just a feeling. Some people fear almost everything. I am a professional. I know what I’m doing. Bullets of hot water,. Steam sketching a cloud,. Soap scumbling my face and hands,. I am a cleansed ghost,. Shining in the pink dark. Only my x-ray charm. And infallible sense of direction. Prevent me from swirling. Down the giddy vortex. A Girl Like You.
