e-revista EgoPHobia - ISSN 1584-6210
by Samuel R. Buckley My life is a tune, three verses, a breakdown, and a chorus to fade. Verse Something very strange is happening to Ariadne Quantick. She opens her eyes after falling asleep on the morning train to find herself staring right into the eyes of her double. Straight into the face of herself: […]
Fragments I’m a fool and there’s no getting back all the things I have lost. No use crying for the little pieces, all the bits that made up what I once was, a lie destined to disintegrate
Trog 1. I was poisoned in 2009 I cannot be poisoned again Poison comes in many forms Some of it is white powder Some of it blows in the wind Some is traceable, some not
Meat People The foreign affairs begin to hurt. They call each other repeatedly, the phone bills fat as children. ‘Look, baby,’ he says. ‘Look, baby,’ he says. And for all the looking there ought to be a view wide as fourteen hills, four
Winter Child City’s snowed in. No one’s about. Nothing to do but admire the night sky through rippling red eyes. Not so much the stars. But the darkness that holds them in place.
[debut] THEMigod Thrown away Thrown away in a mold of unattainable aspirations And left there Rotting – Decomposing gruesomely as nonfulfillment putrefies my brain And I am
by Oliviu Crâznic The haggard mures, the forlorn alleys, The purblind mansions – casements, none; The wilted ivy and the placard Reading not WELCOME, but BE GONE…
Inferno I thought I’d read the Inferno aloud to my wife while we were house-sitting in a drafty old farmhouse in Umbria but after a while Hell got boring It didn’t take very long
personal mud pies mulch of my earthen history
The Television The television talks to nobody. (Nobody is home, and nobody is listening.) Why does it press on, forecasting scattered showers when nobody will be around to see it,