InkSlingerDucky

A mop fell into grainy water, rocking bubbles to the outside edges, licking yellow plastic. Pat. Water drooled from the braids across thick tiles, under the stall doors, beneath the windows where the streetlights had just awakened. Curves and swishes shone on the floor, wet until they dissolved. Wide bands became smears, became needles, became nothing, until Harvey smelled only floor cleanser and city water. Speckled counters were wiped down, clearing water and dust between raised sink bowls. Brown paper was lifted from moist corners, clutched through blue latex. Trash cans were emptied into the cart, dry matter rustling from one container

11. One is sure to find fan art for nearly everything, obscure or otherwise. (King of the Hill, The Scarlet Pimpernel, REPO! The Genetic Opera, etc.) 10. Just as one can find any type of fan, one can find any type of artist. Food haiku poets? check. Retro pinup photographers? Roger. Weird Al-esque parody song writers? Yes'm! 9. DA Pride. I love knowing the source of sudden artistic revolutions. The inventor of Line Rider was a deviant, as well as the creator of Salad Fingers, and many others napping in my memory who have made me proud! 8. Style and identity matter here. When I buy a new folder or notebook or backpack, I can never leave it

Ellen Marlow Haiku II (TGIF) A silly game, a silly score, to waste four days in wait of three more.

Ellen Marlow Reeling Can't stop seeing his shameless forearms, using her shoulders like a pull-up bar.

Ellen Marlow The Dance    White and green and blue lights are strung along the big open tent, and there are banners everywhere labeling however many annual summer blues festivals this makes. Folks are standing around lines of old cars eating hot dogs, and folks are dancing and glowing.    Alfred hops from his Ford, blocking out Gladys, his wife, from speaking for  the few seconds that it takes her to catch up to him. Buttercup polyester hugs Alfred's shoulders tightly, smeared with sunset petals. "Your work clothes would have been just fine," Gladys says, sounding pained. "What good is a beige tie out here, with no ceiling

Ellen Marlow Francis Lloyd Marlow Francis Lloyd never worked for nobody Ain't nobody never worked for Francis Lloyd Francis Lloyd never needed nobody No crippled son No repairmen No dustbowl in his eyes Ain't nobody never needed Francis Lloyd Ain't nobody never called Francis Lloyd Francis –Lloyd won't call no one Francis neither. "Do unto others, the good lord say!" He chuckles and toasts his moonshine To sweet home Nebraska! To all free and self-taught men!