A Cordial Welcome

Cosmik Wolfpack is a playground and laboratory for flash-formed poetry and nanofiction written by The Debtor, a white cisgender male and citizen of the United States.

If you have something to say to the author, send it to cosmikwolfpack at gmail dot com.

7.14.2012

Wilderness Worlds Against National Debt

I saw a family values video where this proud preacher was hollering something like a hoot owl, so what? Anyways he was giving green papers to a woman with good hair and glasses, not just any green papers, it was a paper with faces of bearded gentlemen on it. Either way he got a workout from that. Gees its a wonder someone did not come up with sexercise equipment, getting both a sexual and physical workout.

This belief and comfort in self leaves him unencumbered by many of the rules and regulations that most men, especially men in this country feel obligated to obey. Happily, for all concerned, by which I mean all humanity, this younger generation has already begun to rewrite many of those rules.

I love using my motorbike but it takes a while to warm up. As in it's cold when I first start using it. What's a quick way to warm it? I normally just put it under me or set it between my legs but that takes to long. I live in Wisconsin btw.

7.13.2012

Cloud Candle

The sky is a lichen color and a breath of dry tinsel. The sky is a bed of scales and a pool of silent smoke. The sky is heavy pewter and hides from our boat.

Wet your feet in what is under you.

When you take your fingertips back from the sandstone, rub them together to feel what they have taken away. You will find that your fingerprints have been softened. This is what you have given. The certainty of your form is diminished.

7.12.2012

Briny Wings

They're wilting, these parents. Their eyebrows fade from their faces and their inflexible bodies. They are as much a part of this residential structure as the tar of the roof and the nests of animals in places we do not look. When they were children themselves, these parents knew of wordless urgings in genital depths, early hints of that reproductive imperative that would result in you, me, and our siblings.

It manifested itself in obscure ways in the twilight time before puberty claimed these gray parents. It lived in words shouted at a tree. In the ghost imparted into a plush toy. It was a soiled ribbon pulled tight around another child's neck.

I am essentially the game of a child, cruel in confusion.