more from the Very Short Stories series
Curator of washable consciences, let me be your parrot of goodwill.
Coffee and cats for our common law judgment days.
What is love thereafter laughter with tears of watermelons and nipples of joy?
The end of a long lasting durable frustration is yet another chain of empty express trains.
Me, the mechanic of your train of thoughts symbolizes steam in the shape of your chuckling heart.
Let the spirit of jazzification judges overwhelm us with some biscuits and flamingo girls.
Shut up! You’ll wake up the children in us.
I’ve got your name written on the back of my navel.
I’ll escape from the moon, a harpoon in my lungs, that’s amore!
Guillotines and guilt and lots of guilds and perpetual peace, bouquet of sardines and tulips for my little morning Napoleonic squirrel.
Bees are longing to be dressed in steel and infrared armor; the hive is leaking symphonic vibrations.
Chariots of burnt limestone lie on my Achilles’ heal.
Priests and big stones fly over the Atlantic to attend a levitational underwater wedding.
Abstract potholes on the ceiling of George Bush’s Japanese ambition.
Politically correct deferential equations of supersonic elevators to complete relaxation and detachment.
Frozen pink martini on the grim of a French moustache floating adrift over the Martinique islands.
You can’t put all the Americans on one Marlboro pack! You sure can’t, but you can miniaturize them.
Stand clear, the door are closing! You can still try our 24/7 department store transportation service.
Tubular parchment from highest hierarchy of a top secret alive tree branch.
Deduct when you cannot react, enact what you cannot attack, lock it in you pocket when you cannot run amok.
Illusory aspects of retina evaporation.
Laws of governance in the red sweet wine patch on the Cambodian passport of Sancho Panza.
Rinsing bats on their back, pulling out knives from Zeus’s eyes.
Cipher on billions and billions of neurons used to pay in kind for a glass of splendid hyper cold water.
Cellophane poles, election polls, Saint Paul’s limbs, Jim Beam’s articulated strawberry chin.
Recycle coffee bin, Hussein’s raised sand level in his crystalliferous blood.
Most of the moose of Mauritania must mingle mysteriously with morning majesties.
A geologist, a tobacconist and a dermatologist enter a liposuction clinic. The geologist goes: May I have a diet stalagmite please? The tobacconist goes: May I have slim menthol on rocks? The dermatologist goes: May I have leather coat and a whip please?
On the nickel there is a stadium full of billiard balls and galactic mercenaries.
Chain reaction in jet marmalade on my wife’s coiffure and a blessing for a nice quiet Saturday afternoon, tasting ozone molecules in two, with one straw.
Stars and tsars, tigers dipped in the golden mud of pregnant myopic camels.
Undo me the knot of midnight illusory sleepwalking on the Central Park if Korean Unification of law calories cakes.
A big whipped cream fudge fight on the drill platform of Freudian hypnotic Swiss watches.
Swinging in a marble rock chair of an horizon within the reach of my squared fingers.
Procrastinated Christians of Muslim declaration of Jewishness. Ave Buddha!
Eat my dust, vacuum my heart of insipid tiny magnets.
Cereals and milk on the piano watching gladly how the granddaughter approaches on her tiptoes and plays Bach to her tomcat.
Snippets and puppets and graffiti and indigo ink and too much pity, it’s icky, it’s sharp like a dove on a harp.
Warp the rake with a membrane of stiff uteruses.
All of us utter the transparency of buffalo silence and mad cows chambers of grass.
I touched the back of her palm like a balm for tiny sweet igloos.
Love the emptiness of eternity in a cookie jar with my ex-girlfriend’s souvenirs and sugar cubes.
Beard big as barrels brandished in the winds like woken wizards.
Lotuses under microscope to reveal the ordeals and passion of an Ant King Messiah.
Crossroads and cruxes as traffic lights, blood that stops, amber that excites, green that nurtures, grass in the lungs. How long for a full narration of sanctification wireless techniques?
I stepped on the tail of a niqāb that was floating in front of my eyes like a dervish. It fell and unveiled a forest of infinite knitted rays of warm light.
Vlad Bunea 