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Most keep their eyes closed. Some look up at the cloud covering the kneeling ecclesiastical trash perched high. Others look around, overly warm.
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like a hundred cracks of thunder / or my brain seizing up, going all floppy on me ...
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and we spun you, / spun you!
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I repeated your name like a mantra
/ and vomited black bile in the sink.
/ Some Buddhist monk told me
/ if I recite it ten thousand times
/ you will be mine.
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Yes, I had pulled my own heart apart
Yes, I had slipped up on time itself
In its own backyard behind my memories
And scared the crap out of it
By not yelling, just sniffing at its neck
Longingly, tearing it apart with my teeth
Wishing I had
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Snow is falling like ashes. I know they're hot and cold. One leaves black streaks on my cheeks, the other tears. Maybe the ashes were falling with the snow, not enough water to put out the fire, just to stir the embers. If you screamed I couldn't…
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[WARNING: THIS FILM CONTAINS PROLONGED SEX SCENES OF AN EXTREMELY EXPLICIT NATURE AND SCENES OF GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, WHICH SOME VIEWERS MAY FIND SHOCKING AND DISTURBING.]
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of a strangely found desire. I wanted to tell you something important, I'm sure, I mean it's pretty obvious, even in this funny breathing space, but everything has been said to death. More isn't always…
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Sometimes your Monday morning answer to the inevitable questions don't have to be so mundane and repetitive. And sometimes they do. No one gives a shit anyway.
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His spoken words had reavealed nothing, but the far-off look in his eyes had told me good-bye.
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The news just now that you are dead
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OldShe would amble into this coffee shopevery dayOrdered her cup of coffeeWhen she finished it, she would wave thecontainer in the air shouting "waitress, waitress,another one please."As the waitress came to her for her refill, she would put her hand in her tattered bag and…
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We are diminished by our desire
for innocence, and we debase those who
possess it.
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We creep the hill, flat on our bellies through yellowed grass and stone, black dirt grimed on our bright faces like powdered war paint. We are sitting ducks as we approach, out in the open like this but Cobb believes no one will be watching this side; it
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Let us both stand steep, alone, this night; the tide Lies, hastening to us: and, far away, I hear the sea gulls sweep, through the divide That shapes drear skies, between dead lights of day. What worth was love? Man severs all he is, To make one…
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All I need is a place to getaway from the rush hour worldThe crazy crazy rush hour worldA place to hide from the rush hour worldMy nerves are shot from the rush hour worldIn need a place to dream from the rush hour worldMy nerves can't take voices of the rush hour worldCars…
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Understanding those who don't understand us
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A man alone in his paid-for living room, with his hands folded behind his head.
A man running from a bar, a bald man seen from behind.
Someone who made a wide circle to avoid your laughter.
A man undressing at the side of the road saying: “How y
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one will become a tobacco king;
another will steal copper plumbing on moonlessnights.
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Last night I met a man from the same littleshithole townthat you are fromand I kissed him in the mouth to find out if he tasted like coallike you do.While he slept, I tried to pinpoint on a map I drew on his back exactly how far apart you might have been:how many years…
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I wonder if this is how my parents viewed their marriage.
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If this isn’t Paradise, what is?/ Your own eyes wide with/ the imagination, the knowing,/ the not-knowing of it all.
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It was just a blob. It was a blob that blocked everything from sight that it covered, and it was a blob that refused to remain in one shape or size, but it was just a blob. It wasn't the first time…
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"I don’t know what to do. I need to catch the 11:30 train, but what is the difference between doing it today or tomorrow?"
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Adam, now Eve-less, stood before his most exquisite Bonsai, wallowing in the miseries of youth.Seth Gall has had work published in China, Canada, and the U.S. His work has appeared in Word Riot, SmokeLong Quarterly, and Nanoism. He is S.H. Gall in decomP…
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“Mirela,” I said. “Mirela, Mirela, Mirela.” I must have told him a hundred times, no exaggeration. “What the hell kind of name is that?” I ignored him, lit a smoke and watched a group of teenage girls as they laughed their way…
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I was supposed to write a history of the old world and expose the selfish ones who use their best kept love for evil against the good little witches of childhood, but it made no sense to me to go after them in that obvious a way. They…
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