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The Killards Are Coming

Every damn day in Religion Class, Sister Anna Banana yapped about the Soviets revving up to start a nuclear war with the new president, Ronald Reagan. She said after the cities burned to Holy Hell, there’d be something called “nuclear winter” that would kill all... 

Double-Strength Demon Dogs

Fantastic Freddie was the only altar boy from the Red Brick Alley. He was always consecrating Ritz Crackers and trying to make us eat them like communion wafers. He light-fingered incense from the sacristy, and he blessed water from Old Lady Tully’s spigot...

Laser Loop

I couldn’t see over the tall green school bus seat except when we hit a pothole and I bounced up in the air like a Pop-Tart jumping out of a toaster. Nobody at Saint Augie’s could believe I was allowed to go. My first school picnic ever. I was good from the day I handed in my pink...

The Boy Wonder

How the Hell did Jaggerbush get himself up there? He was clawing his way up into the open window above the Science class door like a real-life gargoyle. The blockhead of a wooden mallet stuck out of the back of his Toughskins where his butt crack was. He wore three...

About The Author


Robert Roman grew up in Pittsburgh, PA, where he sold newspapers to cars from a concrete island. Read more→

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  • Robert Roman

My Own Private Ulysses: Now Apocalypse

In the Age of AI, I made what rhymed,          

Instead of contagious video clips.                     

Ticktock said the Doomsday Clock, midnight chimed,    

The past passed on to the Now Apocalypse.             

So down I doubled on a double niche,                   

Shakespeare sonnets and the jots of James Joyce, 

A weak last-ditch wild pitch at killed-off kitsch.

Devo said so, we got freedom from choice.             

Our Sci-fi future and period-piece past               

Rattled and died in the digital smoke,                

Time and space lost their place, caught in the blast. 

The all-mighty algorithm has spoke.

Yes, I hid with the old when the world turned new.

If I may be so bold, what’d you do?


Stay tuned for more moribund sonnets.

Same end time, same cyber channel.


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