i lose you in winter melon soup under a broth of cloud cover ginger slices floating where your eyes once did no chance for extradition the weight of absence and imbalance prepping a slow fade to nowhere i find a hairline fracture in the china resembling lost nerve my spoon clanging like a warped church bell
My brothers hear burgundy, while I hear ochre, yet it’s a wonder we can hear at all.
The ghost was hungriest at night. Groaning from starvation. Scraping the walls. Dizzy and running into furniture.
NFFR Associate Editor Steven John interviews Len Kuntz about his work in New Micro (W.W. Norton & Co, 2018) and about the craft of writing microfiction