Pulp poems, book reviews, and other tidbits from the noirboiled world
Monday, February 15, 2016
Pulp Poem of the Week
I was a machine, and my arm was the arm of the machine, and the gun was a part of the machine. And when the machine’s finger contracted the machine’s gun exploded, and that was what the machine was for.
A: Excellent. I intend to read it again. B: Good. I might read it again. C: So-so. I didn't mind reading it. D: Bad. I resented reading it. F: Atrocious. I finished it only because I'm compulsive that way.
No comments:
Post a Comment