dennis scharnberg

Walking the plank, a cloudy day, no wind to speak of.

Ann Sensabaugh, The Faulty Haiku.

“Do you like time, Maxine? Even just a little?”

Diana Moone, Living Well.

“I like it when we can’t pretend that we know,” muttered Alex, with a thoroughgoing sincerity.

Nathaniel Mist, Rattling the Cages.

“Mr. Hansel invents ways to annoy people, Carol. Yesterday he was wearing a T-shirt with the legend ‘Vioxx’ spelled out in block letters. Today, who knows?”

Timothy Waldo, The Important Things.

“This is 2021, James. There is no place at all for respect.”

Tina Gryde, The Flower Children.

I can recall the odd line or two from memory. At least sometimes I can. But it seems there was something about “an endless bathing in selfhood.”

Will Bestwyck, Letters from Mr. Palindrome.

Every moment is coincidence. And there are no moments.

Gaddis Gann, Essays on the Pre-Socratics.

“He’s a newsreader, Emily! A mannikin.”

Will Davies, She Would If She Could.

“Welcome to the Lone Star State,” said Julie. “Hop in.”

Stephanie Biggers, Cat Farming in Nigeria.

By what faculty do we recognize that the truth of a proposition is self-evident?

Benedict Symes, A Meditation on Periodicity.