FRESHFLY
FRESHLY CAUGHT
NEWEST FLY
It turns out
Rodney thinks he is more interesting than others think he is. Rodney thinks that’s because they lack in intelligence. Rodney says unkind things but they aren’t listening, although…
Today at the Dump
TUESDAY, NOV 10, 2026 · FOUR FLIES IN ROTATION
Four recent flies
FRESHFLY
FRESHFLY
STILL BUZZING
RECENT FLY
outsider’s haiku
fall by the wayside it’s where the real action is & bring bail money
FRESHFLY
RECENTLY LANDED
RECENT FLY
DO WE HAVE ENOUGH FOOD TILL THURSDAY?
it doesn’t matter though everybody’s lost their appetite family won’t help my sneakers stink I need a shave blurry eyes and old cigarette butts my life feels stupid…
FRESHFLY
CAUGHT IN THE ACT
RECENT FLY
big toe haiku
My feet are tender but not legal currency What’s a big toe worth?
FOUR FLIES. SIX HOURS EACH.
Fly on duty
SPOTLIGHT ROTATES EVERY SIX HOURS · CLICK A FLY TO READ
Coming soon Open Arts Press
Minor Poets
Small books and modest claims. A new series of single-author poetry chapbooks.
THE ARCHIVE IS NOT DEAD
DIG THROUGH THE WHOLE INFESTATION →Flies That Won't Die
Older work dragged back into the light before everybody forgets it exists.
GIVE ME RANDOM FLIES →
Popularity, accident, repeat offenders, and deep archive archaeology.
The Magazine Gets Weirder From Here.
Online-only playground
Fly Swatter
No. 1
A quick hit of micro-fiction. Click the fly. Five clean hits and civilization is briefly restored.
0 / 5 swatted · 0 points
Fake News
Her motivation was simple enough. “Why should the kids get all the presents?” a red-clad woman said as…
Lie to me →Experiments
TMF visual evidence departmentThings Nobody
Things Nobody
Asked For
Photographs, diagrams, collections, graphics and visual evidence that absolutely nobody requested.
Look anyway →
TMF experimental department
Things to do instead of behaving.
Blind Date With a Poem
No title. No author. Read first; meet the culprit afterward.
reading Leonard Cohen
by candlelight,
visualizing
bonfire night,
your birthday
were you still alive
under that streetlamp,
we could walk together
to your bench
and talk awhile
it’s what we always did best—
just talk, just care
I’ll print this poem
in a lonely font
and burn it
in a bowl,
set the ashes facing east
next time it storms
saying goodbye
by Stella Read
Open the original →
Choose Your Poison
Pick a bottle. We take no responsibility for what happens next.
The Cut-Up Machine
Paste your own prose. Nothing leaves your browser. Then let the machine make a small mess of it.
The wreckage will appear here.
The First Infestation
2017—2025
75 pieces. Nine years of poetry, fiction, art, humor and other things that probably should have been supervised.
From the Archive
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Complaint Box
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