Author

Ken Poyner

Ken Poyner has lately been seen in Analog, Caf� Irreal, The Journal of Microliterature, Blue Collar Review, and many wonderful places. His latest book of bizarre short fiction, Constant Animals, is available from his website kpoyner.com and from www.amazon.com. He is married to Karen Poyner, one of the world's premier power lifters, and holder of more than a dozen current world power lifting records. They are the parents of four rescue cats, and two senseless fish.

http://www.kpoyner.com/

Transaction

You have to pay extra to ensure you have all of the Nanurian's attention. They say that once you have put out the additional cash and she physically zeros out any other trans-dimensional connections, the focused passion is almost bone crushing. But, since you exist in only this…

Bounty

James came out through his flimsy front door and was halfway to his car when Ned from the next home over got him flush in the back with a .38 slug. The shot likely sufficiently killed James, but to be sure Ned walked over and placed two more rounds into him. James's wife came to…

Selection

It has been a while since my wife was Raptured. Happened right there in the grocery store lot. One minute, we were deciding whether the cola should go in the trunk or on the back seat, and the next she was ten feet in the air and gaining momentum. We always buy too much when we…

Cross-Purposes

Three blue nipples fluoresce in the dimming light. She looked more human at the bar. Perhaps a little long, a bit more angular, and the set of tentacles on her sides at the waist were obvious, but tasteful. You might imagine her an earth girl in a really good costume. Halloween…

The Last of Time

I clean the time machines. It is a brute labor job, but unionized, so the pay and benefits are not half bad. Particularly for someone with little education and, like me, a record holding a few early abrasions with the law. What can I say? I had an interesting youth. Mostly the…

Disharmony

Everyone knew how the Meritones wage war. In their opposing masses they gather a few furlongs apart and--like two lone piano top spiders on opposite sides of a metronome--hurl their songs at each other, each new canticle more violent and ragged than the last, each round more…