Milk Fire
M.G. Martin

the milk is on fire & why shouldn’t it be. there is a cave of treasure,
wrapped in yellow ‘caution’ tape, between yr ribcage & spine.
when a ghost is really a ballerina with a sheet over her head, that’s
when i become exhausted. because turning milk into fire is an
effort. & now the milk is everywhere, it is turning into treasure in
front of yr spine. it is turning into fool’s gold behind yr ribcage. &
if the shoes are white & the tights are white & the sheet is white,
then it is a ghost. made you look. & that is how milk is fake. just
kidding. the milk is turning into plasma, it is looking like a ghost
looking for treasure, looking like a jackpot. there is a map in the
shoe. who’s shoe? the ghost’s shoe. the map says that to get to the
cave of treasure i must, first, drink a glass of milk fire, & then,
climb into yr ear without using my hands. by the time i get to yr
ribcage the television is a ghost & yr spine smells like overcooked
plasma. & now i am looking like a ballerina. & finally, i make it to
the treasure cave. there is a button. i am exhausted. i push the
button. a recording of yr voice plays, you say, “sorry, i am unable
to get to the treasure right now, leave yr name & milk fire & i will
call you back.” i put a sheet over my head & tuck myself in for the
night. you are warm.

M.G. Martin is the author of One For None (Ink., 2010). His work has appeared or is forthcoming in PANK, Mud Luscious, >kill author & Everyday Genius, among others. Find him at and @themgmartin.

Art by Rachel Carbonell