by Cleo Nuckels

I am the new $1.29 Nacho Fries. I am the commercial about them on ABC. I am eating them in my car in the Kroger parking lot.

I am Kroger-brand cat litter that only costs a few bucks because it comes in a bag, but it spills…

Cleo Nuckels

Marty is lonely, he’s broke, he’s ugly, he’s mean. He’s the type of guy that you hope you never become. He’s lost in the midwest in an endless purgatory of bland offices, convenience stores and messy basements.

You can either be disgusted or intrigued when he pours Cool…

Joey and Doug. Those were the two guys that shoveled the mud. They did other things sometimes, but today, they were shoveling mud.

It was a simple task, assigned by the boss as he sat at that white round plastic table surrounded by folding chairs, glaring at the cigarettes dangling…

“Dude, there’s this huge sword stuck in a rock behind the Seven Eleven,” said Marlon, always a little too loud.

Arthur inserted a bony finger in each ear. Everything about him was bony. His kneecaps poked through his legs, poorly designed levers that carried his torso around like mechanized bendy…

The heart of everything

Practiced its averted glances

For my pleasure. I see how

They stare.

These white blood cells attack me:

The Disease That Won’t Stop Smiling.

I weave in and out of drug deals,

The thread tying their whole empire together.

The winners, the ones who look

Ashamed, who turn down their eyes,

Who have nothing but vitamins

In their Coursing-River Urine.

When I enter the bathroom,

Trumpets flourishing,

The mice all make way for Queen Rat, and I

Lift up my skirt to piss all over their

Shiny White Urinal.

Why I Cried

didn’t your mama ever teach you how to cry, boy?

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