782 13 15
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Uncounted hens and piglets/
die at my demand. The killing floor//
runs red for me. I am/
monstrous to creatures small and great,
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they were open weekends if we needed to bring him in for euthanasia.
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I’m aware I will never be a woman the night you leave me for another city
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Valentine Dayso excitingit means he really loves herwhat will he bringshe waitshe comes home with a hang dogexpression on his faceher valentine was leftat the gambling table
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It’s been a series of bad clams
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Expose those for whom freedom is greed.
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Pine nerves spike and row.
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. . . she didn’t bow her head.
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It’s possible to forgive the past its trespasses / stop seeing the future as a threat, reimagine / the present as a goal.
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Less than a hundred adults remain, predominately women, along with several dozen children of various ages. Most of their men were killed in a territorial war six moons previous.
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No king of Ithaca, but of each/
whining, banging, dust–clouded island/
of focused, physical work
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the ugliness will not be denied
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But she didn’t look up at him when she said it. He should’ve known better. This is why he’s walking the streets of her hometown in the middle of the night. Too skittish for sex, so he left in frustration, she in tears. He sighs, looks up, and sees t
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He bought damaged and used sex dolls online.
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"Hannah," I say, "stay off the road, let me do the hitchhiking. Ok? Guys see your tits and it's over. I don't want to be here when the sun goes down."
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I still believe in the very slim chanceI might say something luckyenough to reach your truest insides, your at homespirit, that you will hearand understand ascare on my part, evenif you can never quiteidentify me asits secret sender, that warm…
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Writing as a form of imaginative hatred
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Occasionally, I look down and spit.
Not caring that it originates from
the deepest hole in my lungs,
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Before Sandy, there was hype of Sandy. On the third day of hype, the broadcasters laughed. Then B-O-O-M, lights out, houses flooded, and Obama was re-elected.
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Sin by Nonnie Augustine After my mother died, I met Aunt Shirley. I found her in dozens of snapshots piled in falling apart cardboard boxes we hauled down from the attic. Small girls, with huge bows bobby-pinned right on top of…
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Things don’t happen here, life is so boring in this little Irish town.
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Let's walk through this park. We can talk until dark. You have the look of a wolf. I'm not stupid, Jack. I'm a lamb, you'll see, once you get to know me. That tat is fierce and your leathers tight black. My ink is old and black suits me, I'm told. …
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I took a left, it's less safe
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Purple not rain! I guess Prince left. It is said that Prince owned the aquifer under Jordan, Minnesota, and that he sold it but to whom? And moved to Canada—
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(one of my early works: an image-text collage, animated in flash.)
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