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A.K.AAmputated narratives of the not yet come emancipatory orderModesty would be forestalled (left aside) in the case of the title "The Mess...."But who can shoulder the visceral (cough) burden of what is to come?" - The God of Trifling Grammatical…
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Tonight, Bukowski and I drink together.
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18082914
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You say boxer briefs, I say pillbox hats
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180853
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I opened my switchblade mouth and sliced
through the scab of silence.
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180854
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THERE'D been mutterings on the shareholders' board about a dodgy deal shoved through. In the rush after the towers' thing to get out relevant stock an executive producer had signed off on some film school kid for five big ones to shoot a…
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mr cummings sounded too formal for a man who didn’t use capital letters. As she climbed the four flights of stairs to the flat, she sang to herself, “I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart).”
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You make your art when you can and Perhaps vice versa. You really Don't know what that means? Consult your tarot. You make your Art and visualize your mind As a large pool of water. You Make your art and if you're lucky They may…
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180744
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The signal sets the faint young boys into motion
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I was more annoyed at the scream, the icy air around us and our eventual destination–his parents, the club, small talk, all that drunken insignia.
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1807108
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The planet looks so peaceful from space doesn't it? Want a blue Gumball? Like a pancake batter with bluish dye mixed into Its big yellow bowl and carried out by a winking Victorian Butler. Like a bowling ball with just the right Weight for your…
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180797
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we wipe the blood of our progress
from our hands.
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As American as hotdogs and apple pie...
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Clare sits bolt upright in the hard plastic chair, warily tracking every passer-by. In her lap, Kim’s hair is damp with sweat, dark blonde curls melting against her flushed cheeks. Clare absently strokes the length, soothing both of them.
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Are they too old for life's little pleasures? The answer comes as I pass them on the canyon road one morning.
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For another man she raced through infinite wounds and fists in a monsoon forest. Hands tied to her lover’s for a dance, a roulette of paper cranes exploding across the sky. Cascaded into the sea of black eyelashes.
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We stopped at the Western Summit of the Mohawk Trail. Below Richland lay in the valley. I could see all the way to New York State and well into Vermont. From memory, I picked out the Hoosac River running south under the railroad
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It was with the departure of their last child that the Beazleys became grotesquely petty with each other.
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“No names,” she said. “I am the mysterious woman, and you are the handsome stranger.”
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Indeed, it was quite likely that no one in town had ever played either of these games. The townsfolk were not big fans of word games, though they did enjoy Whist and Canasta.
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The drip of rank meat, his muzzle, his back-barbed tongue: red.
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I was a Cub Scout, and the face of God was a joke that was told to my little pack. The joke went as thus:
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Do you think that’s a good idea, you said. Sure, I said, as the men coiled up the anaconda and put it in a second truck that had arrived. You don’t think anyone will wonder what our motives are?
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180683
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I want her life to pass in a world without meridian
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180511
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Fingers fan like birds’ wings
cradling the volume,
head hanging low
and lips moving silently...
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180540
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I had a dream. "And it was a long dream, as dreams go. . ."
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Your precious feet were there once, pressed against the familiar floorboards, where your poems suddenly appeared to you, flashing like lightning. I wonder which window they came in? Here's a thought: you were like that window. You caught…
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