Phantom Trash

Forsaken lore and Waking paralysis dreams

When The Door Close

When the door close, the gale blow and scrunch the knob against thy weakened fingie-tits. Back home from hard learn’n, you is. Back home from Emelie, the slapping ho, who you took to the boy’s bathroom and showed how to eat a urinal cake. You’ll be slap free soon...

The Infinity Nail

My fingernails don’t end. Even though I pull them off. I take hold with my thumb and forefinger. I pull a nail off my finger and it just keeps coming like a magician’s handkerchief from his breast pocket or a clown’s handkerchief from his throat....

When I Shave: Fingers

When I shave, there is already some nostalgia for the beard. There is some future and present regret for having removed it from my face. What once looked like a pubic mound with eyes and a mouth is now just a face again. A face in an army of faces, swimming in the...

This Little White Slip Tells You Nothing

Imagine myself a fortune cookie broken up by an unsuspecting fat boy who has crammed so much Chinese buffet food into his throat that it’s actually piled high to the end of his esophagus. I have sat there on the table well past when the young Asian woman placed a...

Man, You’ve Got it All

he fridge is a fucking mess. You clean it. Your cousin comes by, a wicked tornado, and moves the cream cheese. He moves the chicken breast. He puts the honey mustard on the top shelf and horizontally orients the milk on the bottom, even though there’s plenty of space...