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are my only real friends. They don't seem to mind my shuffling down the dirty sidewalks without acknowledging their mere scraggly presences like friendly tombstones. They are growing their hair out again. I've noticed that much. We've got a…
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(I woke once from a bad dream to throw them from the drawer, but my hands were so clammy, the coins stuck to my hand! I had to scrape them off my palm on the edge of the table.)
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There’s a price / on everything
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But if he's been photographing her for almost thirty years, there must be close to 11,000 images. During the session, they don't speak. And, after so long, words are not really necessary.
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The white space beckons-/
a blank wall in a decrepit neighborhood-/
wishing to be decorated or defiled
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Little tech puppies, well compensated for code/
that outsourced laborers will realize in supercheap,/
superchipped gewgaws, sip artisan beers
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I can never tell if he’s drunk or using some sort of substance or if perhaps his brain just doesn’t fire at the pace that we have come to accept as normal.
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The smart drivers know the signs/
and the back street ways around the wreck.
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Sasha and I had snorted a table of cocaine and I had her trapped inside my Joy Division bedroom.
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She asks if I would like to join them.
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Usually I’m the only guy in a roomful of women. Some of them are foxy, too.
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Each day, they trot the coiffed/
and painted cadavers across the stage.
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...the job was easy, just pour and deliver, pour and deliver.
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She parks the car and trudges insidefor her daily visithoping that the new rouge hidesthe old tears.Five years now she has been comingto see himHe looks nothing like the pictures toanyone but her.They say she should go homeand rest, relaxShe doesn't know how…
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and the smiles light the way
when the wind blows the darkness
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Celia was born with another baby's head atop her head and everyone in the village thought her cursed. It was because Celia's mother had been too young to be intimate with a man, twelve only, and the man, important in the village,…
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Endurance wears the soul thin.//
The hour to succumb ticks ever closer.
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She wouldn't have been the first.
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Tell me how magnificent my mind is
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The fuckers tumble out of the bathroom like clowns from a tiny car. The girl has these huge tits and dark red hair. She rushes past me, smelling like chocolate. A guy's behind her, holding onto the back of her jeans. He's not good looking enough to…
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She doesn't even know who wears the Adam's apple in this house.
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No beeping of horns, just complete silence. No panic, just calmness. There’s this one word: serendipity.
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where is the magic at?
the spit
the dirt
or the words?
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I like the smoke going in
but I like it even more
when it's coming out
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He hunched low and forward on his bike, his 14-year old self, flying down the dusty back roads of this Great Midwestern Land, his head full of the smell of the algebraic girl he sat behind in math class just hours ago.
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. . . clinging to life in a shroud of winter air. It veered up five flights to a sweltering summer night on the roof . . .
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Follow the money. It seeks/
the lowest of the low and finds them here/
in an embarrassing abundance.
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