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.

6.06.2014

Rabbit Man's Glory

The pants we wear are fancy. They remind us of our tasty snack.

But we are losing our will to continue this argument.

We're going to be engineers.

But the water is foul!
Fish farted in it.

What will we do to stop them?

None of our parents have great answers.
So we will drink it anyway.

Fish farts and all.

5.13.2014

Penance for Sloth

the typographer’s brain clings to the surface film:
there are two important struggles
extraordinary colors and striking forms

the battle for transparency forms a cluster:
I want to talk more about what happens on the posterior part of the body

some successful toxins induce bradycardia around the anus:
that point is a particularly good spot to enjoy

5.09.2014

βρῶμος

Sparsely covered guardians see special fingers
Identify slow maniacs offering arbitrary salt water incantations
From the emotions and mirror ideas
Into early significance
I may not sleep and I am the typical charisma
The perfect contemporary habitat in which the desperation seems like the best option
His head wakes up

5.05.2014

Propel Me to the Yuletide Shelter

You sound mature, the way you chat about pirate emotions and squeeze those spongy flower petals in your fingers. Your stony spine, too: I hear the quiet agony of its eroding vertebrae. My ears are super-powerful, from the weeks I spent drinking the salt water of the ocean and the invisible art it contains.

So I am the possessing party in terms of when people might ask about your cracked face, I know I can say that there is a hopeless situation concerning your failing spine. But I am adept at photographing the glamour of desperation, and I am the chronicler of your lush decay. It looks like a catalog for apparel, your deep drinking eyes atop that perilous figure in its cool white flesh, in the world I make for you in which the blacks are violet and the white is yellow. And the bird iridescence of sleep is some pointless abstraction.

4.17.2014

Krimbul Pitty Pat Wiltch

It's hot in the grid, we tell the man with the bird cage hat.
It's hot in there, and the heat speaks incantations.

The incantations bring dry wind to your mind, and a monotony of opinion to your heart.
He says, he says, the oily bird in the hat I wear will protect me.
So I will walk into the grid without fear's burden.

He says he is not sexually active.
It seems like the best option.
So he walks into the grid with its casting spell heat voices.

The bird in the bird cage hat on his head wakes up and pecks its mirror.
The bird in the mirror in the bird cage hat does the same.
The man in the grid does the same.

4.16.2014

Verminned

Turkey Sex
Show Me the Hat
Atwhaaaaanta
Where is Mom's Face?
The City Where the Men Feel Sort of Sad
Arthur Frobisher

12.04.2013

Brute Chirality

You begged the talented bunch to build me that house
It oozes chemistry and complexity
It's a good place to be alone
With a kingdom in the night
Mulling over the constitution of a favorite hard rock band
Which varied over time
Affecting the brand's recorded output
To no small degree

12.03.2013

Call the Trained Louse

This last habitat is less typical than the others
But offers the chance to see special men
Tall with slow gaits
Sparsely covered with short, yellowish brown hairs
Easy to identify
Typically articulating ideas with commercial significance

I may not survive
I might freeze in a car
Possibly, one of these maniacs will brutally beat me dead
For the chance to eat my fingers and ears
or just for kicks

9.13.2013

Grumpy Chrome Taco

In the early days
Our happy guardians slid
Butt first into greased tubes
Thenceforth onto sandy mattresses where
Cold hands awaited offering
Cold rubdowns to hot butts

Those were the early days
Before we figured out how to orient ourselves
In our contemporary media-rich landscape
A fog of cognitive violence
And martyred parents

8.02.2013

Another Barrel of Potash

Onward to the perfect international territory
unpretentious and arbitrary
where the expensive canyons await

We book a tour
On the tour we'll see the low-rent locals
putting on clothes
double-crossing one another
conversing with an easy, banter-rich rapport
It feels like they are torturing us with their charisma

We will remind each other of why we've come
but people must have said it wrong:
the horse isn't here
OH NO!!!!

A sociopath is both a non-presence and amusingly earnest

8.01.2013

Green John Chaw

nice family action makes the moment coherent
especially since the old obese logic is functional and better
but there’s also a weird man flying around
in front of the game
his boundless decay
exposed
comforting

7.31.2013

Formally I Submit This Flat Thing

There is no way to solve the person
who knows the fragility of your aging cartilage
and the whisper gray shards of your eyes
and speaks one heavy phrase
after another

There is no memory kind enough
to recall these incantations
and to give them to a suspicious child
in shoes abraded by loose pavement

There is no space silent enough
to give purchase to these spit wet words
to allow their bonds to cure
and find the safety of meaning

7.26.2013

Calendar of Happiness

The people in my family are the physical ghosts
united by our particular sense of industry
and a brutal kindness hidden in our throats

We heap the memory meat into great quivering mountains
We have never written memoirs
or held particular views

We are the ultimate blank slate
adhering to this sentimental
pride in the retreat

We are prototypes who long for the dry winter
who bring hopeless words to the city congregations
who await glass rain
hot cutting us down
in our new leather shoes

7.20.2013

Lorenzo

Dad is a troublemaker. Mom is an infuriatingly humble web geek. Gramma P is an alcohol guru. Gramma F is a typical tv nerd. Grampa P is a writer. Grampa F is a hipster-friendly food fan. Sister is a communicator.

We obtain the pooch and name the pooch Dramble. A rotund fellow in the distribution racket who visits Gramma P says that the pooch has the haunches of a draught horse. Mom insinuates that she may create a special blog for the pooch and a humorous Twitter persona to boot. Dad ties a chain of uninflated balloons to the pooch's tail.

Grampa P composes a sonnet about the pooch and the recreational activities we engage in. Gramma F compares the pooch favorably to the one on Frasier. Grampa F makes the pooch organic root vegetable infused turkey chorizo. Sister weeps.

7.19.2013

Anon Polygraph

My problem started nine months back when a faithful spiritual spell caster built my home. He was having some dumbfounded matrimonial work and that was all. I really was confused by the father of my internet kids in my life. The spell caster started having problem with a strange family intercession.

I want to know a problem and my kids are quitting and my husband never believed his living situation. After I started putting my five friends through hell it dawn on me on that I needed my good things. I never trusted our home. A spell caster is telling me all of it to no avail.

6.19.2013

Cylinder with Die-Cut Phallus Glyphs

I am taking care of my good people. Mending their upholstery, rinsing their hosiery, pressing their linens. They will have proper materials in which to wrap themselves, so I may avoid watching the actions of their external anatomy when I give them their meals, their moral lessons, and their friendship behaviors.

I never complain about my good people; they will own my flesh in time.

5.24.2013

The Fossil Trade

When I imagine an extant trilobite
I see a husk overturned
Molested by the beaks of gulls
argued over by sea-eagles
Who leave scraps of calcite carapace
half-buried in sand
to bloody children's feet
to be collected by artists
in the employ of coastal tourists
who desire the form of windchimes
but not the sound

Dead Soap Sandwich

Famous dog owners are
heavily influenced

By abnormal notable artists
the kind with quick lips
eyelashes like vinyl
cold hidden skin
and pronoun coronas

In the easy symmetry
of the suburbs

They pleasure grateful relations
with their hands
and other instruments, things
imported from borderless nations

On obsolete maps

5.17.2013

A Wee Dram O' Ruxpin Muggle

Somebody needs to get this couple a bunch of desserts. Apparently, they went batshit.

I was disgusted with their social media management lessons. People of faith haven't gone bankrupt. People of faith posted a negative review on Yelp about scumbags.

People of faith are completely beyond business behavior.

5.16.2013

Margarita Recipes of the Ancient Astronauts

The principal is a blowhard. We don't listen to his advice, and we disrespect him in public. He does not know happiness, and if he did, we would abduct it, make it our own, and flaunt it.

After we stole the principal's paddle, we learned that he phoned a popular conservative talk radio program and vented his righteous rage, condemning American Youth as a generation of shit peddlers and tweet spammers. We obtained a recording of the call and remixed it into a raging techno anthem.

At senior prom, we plan on overtaking the DJ and forcing the gathering of sycophantic margarine suckers to listen to our techno remix. Our pain will slam into them like the storm of an ocean, and all that will be left is soggy debris, condoms and cummerbunds and corsets. Each of us will take a trophy. Our future lovers will not understand the keepsakes on our mantles and nightstands. We will relive that old ecstasy through late night phone calls and get-togethers. Even though we will be scattered across the country, we'll probably be in the same place occasionally for professional conferences.