Short stories around 1 minute

His voice unfolds in hieroglyphics, which are translated into packets and sent to relays that bounce them between satellites. At night, I listen to tiny meteors expire across the water, which give...

Ling is weary of men who rush for trains and sacrifice their briefcases to the doors. She wants to stick her pregnant belly into their noses. Six weeks after giving birth, Ling goes back to work...

I cannot find my heart nor the moon tonight, and the Lovers' Tarot is upside down on the bookcase, with the Devil grinning downside up, the Tower standing its ground, and the Moon reversed, a...

There is a here, where I am stumbling over gullies and gashes, past vertical forms made from broken grasses and corkscrews of newly fallen snow, and a not remembering how the journey started. There...

The baby cries. A fax machine starts up, humming. The man with a lopsided walk comes into the room and reads. He leans over and touches the cold window glass. The baby pulls himself to standing in...

When the head of the king popped off the royal body, the lackey thought about historical necessity. That was the first sentence. Because of it, the story ground to a halt. The famous writer...

The repair man dreams of cogs and band saws, electrical circuits and wires, and takes his work clothes to the Wife Saver Laundromat in the retail strip near their apartment building. Mattie reads...

A stone doorway left by a disappeared building leads to a patchwork field of alternating shades of green and yellow arrayed around a winding segment of electric blue river where the exiled court of...

My mother pressed the button for the car radio, and my father found an oldies station, songs of the sixties, their early marriage. The sky kept up its awful red.

Amelia Earhardt, alone, stranded on an atoll, far, is being eaten by crabs. They come every time she stops moving and wait for her to crawl out of the water. Day follows night always the same on...

The bartender looks like Ed Sullivan or Richard Nixon and is stroking his chin. The couple needs answers and direction and stumbles out into the street, where they say shit and stamp their feet on...

In a faintly orange air of a late afternoon I sit at a tiny metal sidewalk café table across from another. I ran into Julian again and we talked about lines of flight, the desire to become someone...