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FROM A DYING COCKROACH Life never promised much… born in a crack, raised in a cage of gargantuan construction, tortured by a crew of sadistic gods whose every casual step could spell butchery… chased with rolled newspaper and swatter… days holed-up in…
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Children imagine dying all the time, especially when someone in their life, someone close, has died. Children's games often include pretend dying, flopping around after being shot for about three minutes, choking, falling to the ground and…
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It was stubborn early winter, when everyone was cold but went outside anyways, rubbing red fingers and shuffling feet.
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She blinked, there was a sliver of light across the middle of the coffin. She wasn't buried alive. She was still above ground.
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It was a phone call we never expected. You were so full of life and joy and the sound of your laugh was pierced in our minds. Two strokes. That's what they said. No explanation, no back story. We worried we would lose you. Immediately, all of our memories with you started…
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She became suited to herself only. She no longer tried in any way to fit, she fought the molds they created and kept moving in her own direction. Often forward, sometimes a bit backward, and she rightly scaled her own Mt. Olympus and there she sat with he
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“Don’t worry, I’ll show you how.”
My hands shook; my heart raced;
My knees felt like Jell-o©
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the sound of ashes/ being poured in the kitchen
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When he was certain he was ready, he set out. The journey was arduous for a man of his years. Yet, he seemed to spring to it, like a dog to a bone. Maybe like a lion to it's prey; mostly in the best way possible for a man such as he.
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Red runs in rivulets against the backdrop /
Into a pool, a morass, that is his life
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Chet Baker mourns for you, New Coke mourns for you, Roddy Piper mourns for you, 8-track cassettes of Humble Pie and Bachman Turner Overdrive mourn for you
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But she knew what she would find. She knew it all the moment she felt the sticky fingerprints behind the slat of her old oak slay bed. The fingerprints that would only be left from a person grabbing it from behind their head. The fingerprints that she
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He checked the wind speed, which was irrelevant, just something he liked doing when he was outside. It was calm. He stepped out into the road.
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Let whoever may read this know: I am an evil man, and I have done evil things.
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She overcomes herself on the day of the spectacle, clown paint, unmoving amid a rumble of trains and screens, video logs and snapshots, live blogs from phones wet with lotion. This is Tokyo. Facial masks. Bare flaking paint in streams. Stardust.
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