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.

1.29.2022

Mike Lindell's Burlap Prophylactic

The people have been interested in fantasy and intricate xenophobia. Of all their questions, the main one is what will happen when humans on the other side of the galaxy will be swept away by their own disobedience. When I was growing up in St. Croix, U. S. Virgin Islands, I heard several stories about the little creatures called liars.

1.22.2022

Dip Spikes

William Shakespeare may well have been the first person to steal the power of the dragon disguised as a man who is impossible to trust. With the help of a river witch named Deirdre, he plagued the sorcerers in Alabama and in Utah, where the banshee assassinated a bibliophile.

1.15.2022

An Exultation of Property

A dangerous animal who is in the garden pond turns himself purple. Though he causes her no end of problems and embarrassment, the mistress is not quite willing to wear a muzzle.

A talented footballer steals special chocolates and baby teeth. He looks adorable but he has his own special way of injuring himself with dripping paint. He eats Bank Robbers!

1.08.2022

The Flaky Macho Guy Cruises

Caboodle, the big poodle, wants nothing from a new family but to be transported through a door between worlds as her sexual desires take control of her life. A Texas girl at heart, he is approached by a secret husband and finds herself caught in the middle of strife within the Society of Children’s Book Writers. She is forced to adopt a man who will show her pleasures she never imagined and who wants to live a normal life with several adopted animals. Tonight she will experience surprising rewards.

1.01.2022

Sauce of Aura

My town is a friendly place. I get food and a lot of positive physical contact. A lady at the auto body shop says my hair is like oily feathers. A tree surgeon says I have healthy phloem and won't explain exactly what he means by that.

A puckered old gentleman calls me "sweet ham" and says that when he's agitated, he soothes himself by imagining my pillowy skin pierced by something sharp and oozing sweet tar. My little body in its current swollen and moistened form delights people.