Kolby-Montooth

Ashley the Apprentice By Kolby Montooth   In the tiny copper cauldron a thick gooey stew was rapidly turning from green to brown to black.  Ashley’s spell was not going very well at all.  She pinched the sleeve of her robes and raised the corner up to wipe the sweat off of her forehead.  The robes were much too big for Ashley’s small body so the sleeves fell well past her hands and the hem of the robe pooled on the floor.  Just like her secondhand robes, her pointy witch’s hat was so big it would envelope Ashley’s head from her short red curls to her freckled cheeks.  Ashley had an open face that would instantly reveal

Pigdjin the Familiar By Kolby Montooth   Pigdjin stared up at his master with a menacing and disapproving glare.  He was not amused.  Not in the slightest.  He worried though, that he wasn't quite communicating his glare with his master.  For though he frowned and glared with his center head, his right head continued to smile and pant and his left head chewed at his back leg.  It was hard for Pidgin to concentrate on anything for long, but it was even more difficult when he had to focus three minds on a single task.  Pigdjin had, until recently, been a perfectly normal, one-headed dog.  He had a short, pointed snout and pointed ears that s

Far Side of the Mirror By Kolby Montooth   Miles into the ocean, far from the clutches of the shore, a tiny craft, Orca, crashes through the waves and sails on winds stronger than she has ever seen before.  The sea rolls underneath as she struggles over the vast depths below her.  Orca is a single sail pleasure craft built for harbor sailing and brief trips along the shoreline.  She is a ship designed to suit the whims of the rich.  A member of a series of miniature sail boats for the wealthy to park at the complimentary docks that were included with their beach front property.  Orca is in waters deeper than her architect ever dreamed an e

Peddlers and Weavers By Kolby Montooth   Jacob Harrison walked out of the Weldon and Jackson Savings and Loans building at exactly seven minutes after five.  He was a little later than usual but he had been tied up for several minutes after work with a co-worker.  Some middle-management cubicle jockey had interrupted Jacob's progress to the elevator and proceeded to ask about his weekend.  After a few moments of awkward conversation, Jacob managed to dismiss this minor annoyance and proceed on his regular schedule.  It would only be a minor delay in his trip home.     As he walked down the concrete  sidewalk to catch the next subway car

The Corpse of Newport Beach: An urban ballad by Kolby Montooth   No one knows precisely how it happened or even when the man appeared but the corpse of a humble stranger came to rest in Newport Beach besides the street.  No one knew how he died.  How could they?  For you see, there are no coroners in Newport Beach.  They have all moved on to more profitable employment as plastic surgeons.  So on the corpse sat, besides the street, for hours and days and weeks.   The police had been called repeatedly but sad to say there simply wasn't time.  All policemen high and low were occupied with even more horrible crimes.  For each cop in  car or

Therapy By Kolby Monooth    The skin on my forehead feels clammy as I rub the back of my hand against it.  I push the skin outward in little circles away from the center of my skull out towards my temples.  It eases the pain of remembering.  I have been at it for hours now, I think.  Trying to reach into my past and pull out a memory.  Something whole and complete.  Not the fragments and images I always remember.  Something tangible.      Across from me my doctor, Seart I believe, scratches another line onto his clipboard.  He has been keeping track of the number of times I rub my forehead.  He believes it to be a reactive disassembler of

I do my job like a good little cog like a well placed wheel I dont cheat or steal I do my work I pay my time I stand in line I stand in line By Kolby Montooth

Yanked out is the hair that heated my brain Pulled off are the clothes that hid my flesh Gone are the glasses that guided my sight Killed are the insects that ate my health Pulled off are my legs that would run me away Gone is the voice that would call for help Buried alive is the brain in my skull Peeled off is the skin of my pelt Off fall the fingers that wrote this poem Gone is the soul where it hides You tore me apart looking for something of good and you find there is nothing inside. By Kolby Montooth

The Valley of Thought By Kolby Montooth My corpse sat on its back where it lies                    And a man leaned over it and said-             "sir, how did you die?" Said I-                            "The cold" He asked-                       "The cold?" Said I-                            "The cold that builds                                  In your hands and your feet                                  And your arms and your legs The cold that puts icicles in your lungs                        And freezes the love in your heart It burns your eyes and cuts your ears                        And last it kills the thoughts i

And the Lights Came On By Kolby Montooth  The pounding rhythm of a heavy bass line reverberated through the night club as the powdered white patrons in their black and red and white garb pushed and grinded against each other on the dance floor.  Red and white and black light poured down on them from above.  Joshua watched the whole scene from a table, set aside and shrouded in shadow.  He tried to look as aloof and distant as possible as he slowly nursed his beer, wishing he could afford something more stylish.  He came here every night.  That is, every night that he could afford the door fee and the one or two beers, dressed in his gothic