Virus by Stephen Hastings-King

Words write themselves on my walls. They creep into paintings and photographs, erase elements from image, replace with themselves.

Words take shape in clouds of cigarette smoke. They fill up my ashtrays and pile up on tables.

Some days I trail them behind me like a smell.

When I get home in the evening, words are hanging in the air like dust. They stick to my glasses.

The cabinets in my kitchen are full of nouns. Stale verbs I never eat sit in boxes atop the refrigerator.

Words accumulate on my wardrobe like dandruff. There are fragments of stories in my sock drawer. They might be better than this.


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Filed under Stephen Hastings-King

6 responses to “Virus by Stephen Hastings-King

  1. Terribly creative and flowing. Love it.

  2. guy

    Ha! Great ending. It made me laugh, and that’s hard to do.

  3. Deborah A. Upton


  4. Different and nice! The words transmuted into these other things is so good!

  5. Pingback: Week #49 – Cold front | 52|250 A Year of Flash

  6. stephen

    thanks much for the reads and lovely comments. i’m pleased that you enjoyed the piece. it was fun to write, in a snippy kind of way.

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