1448 8 6
|
|
98132
|
The early morning temperature was a typo
|
154331
|
|
137212
|
Johnny Rocket is on the I-pad, sad, He says, “Game on, King me, the Queen” Always "it", he eats pork rinds like mad, “King him again” high on amphetamine.In his sleep, ants come up from the floor board to eat french fries, cola, their aorta…
|
136764
|
The sad march goes ever on. It stretches endlessly over an eternity of painful hills, as unnatural as lumps under the skin, into the deserted broken down streets, the forgotten unprotected alleyways, always adding more and more lost children to…
|
15571010
|
As if to ask if I'm okay, as if to ask aren't we the same two on this wet December morning as ever, as yesterday, a month ago even, she shoots me a look as I stand by the bed, then her sane mild brown eyes…
|
162874
|
Truman sits in his car on an early Tuesday morning. He rolls down both front windows down, but despite the infusion of fresh air, the car still smells of stale meat and sickness.
|
106321
|
if you lost your list on your way here
i will help you get what you came for.
|
149365
|
faith in gravity/permitted them to extol/the guillotine's blade.
|
13554
|
This is not about you Although you are stone cold and sexy
|
123653
|
And there on the street
Were a bunch of frantic pigeons
Picking over some discarded
Chicken bones
I mean they were really
Going to town on them
You know, frantic
Like there was no tomorrow
And then I saw it
A real sign of progress
|
20602411
|
"Baby, he turned gray and dead before he hit the floor".
|
141953
|
It's 2am. The wind is moving at speed, whipping gently the tree branches, and their leaves rustle simultaneously to create a audible sound, like hands flipping through sheets of paper, or that feeling you get on your fingertips when going across a textured surface. I'm…
|
123161
|
A Satire We are the Social Justice soldiers, we parrot platitudes and lies, And expect you all to worship the same things we idolise. We ignore Islamic extremism and domestic terrorism too, Because we are Cultural Relativists whose brains are up our…
|
142044
|
Feelin’, feelin’ good, down-fallin’ down/rain, rain, rain came today,/wet alfresco alchemy
|
1473219
|
Polite society will cheer/
as another body is discovered//
and disposed of. The cheers/
will drown out the gasps
|
137265
|
I can do the hot coals, no problem.
Or, your love, eyes closed.
Or your sneer, spank,
suffering, resentment, rejection.
|
147986
|
The world is upon us. The only thing that matters Now is if you are willing to be seen by them. Many moths Will be hidden by simply gathering on the bark Of the one tree, but this will not sustain you if you Do not also have the courage…
|
151574
|
We are all in big trouble. Here's some fiction to let your soul experience the beast.
|
136501
|
“Hi, I'm Mike, and I don't wanna work ... Wanna play foos?”
|
148665
|
Infinity occurs as an afterthought, for discoverers like Columbus as for countries like America.
|
130155
|
Then I am in Washington DC impersonating an accountant.
|
13542
|
|
129122
|
the injured color wheel of the world
|
168867
|
I've measured out our time togethersealed it in airtight bottlesthe one labeled 1998 kept closelike smelling saltsOne whiff a camphor waking memaking me high on the idea of usputting blinders on your infidelitiesdouble vodkas and damaging wordsAnd when that isn't enoughI…
|
332578
|
It’s the unfinished sentences
Of the children on our refrigerators
That worry me the most
It’s the Fake News
It’s all the people
Living in their shopping carts
Without shoes
It’s the abandoned shoe
On the street
And the Abandoned S
|
111145
|
But El Roy
Never listen no so
|
1430138
|
The stars align against us. Lines of force/
collaborate to push us off the edge/
into the dark abyss we’ve joked about.
|
19671414
|
That was before Cohen died. Castro died. Castro Died should be a title by Samuel Beckett. Once I nearly went out to buy a bass clarinet just for the purpose of playing along with Leonard Cohen.
|
124143
|
There is a dead factory. It sits on the tip of a small piece of land which extends into a forgotten lake, like a giant dirty-inked thumb pressed against a faded blue sheet of paper.
|
