Month: April 2025

  • The Bad Butcher

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    He woke up to the sound of the maddening leaves. The sun was croaking forth. He had slept in the woods because of a fight with his wife the night before. He had nowhere else to go. She was mad at him because he had quit his job as a butcher. He hated being a butcher and besides that, his boss was cruel. He wasn’t even very good at it. His mind wandered to other things far too often. He could never focus on the flesh and the blood.

    “Everyone’s better than you!” she had screamed at him.

    He wasn’t about to take that abuse. He packed up his knives and a few belongings and walked out of the house.

    “And don’t come back until you’re a better person!” she had yelled to him at the doorway.

    That day will never come, he thought to himself. Because in her mind, he would never be better.

    He really wanted to go back and haul off and hit her. He was so hurt and mad. But he would never do that. It wasn’t in him. It was the same with butchering meat. It wasn’t in him. It was just something his father-in-law had convinced him to do because, well, he was an arrogant prick and thought he knew what was best for everyone even when he had no clue.

    He sat up and put his back against a tree trunk. It was quiet out in the woods. He liked that. He looked down at his satchel of fine knives and wondered what he’d do with them now. But then he thought that they might come in handy if he was going to live in the woods forever now. He gathered his things, took a deep breath, and walked toward his uncertain future.  


    Thank you to Edge of Humanity Magazine for recently publishing this flash fiction piece.

  • White

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    I wake up in deep shock

    My muscles are all bound up

    There’s a man in a window of the building across the way

    He looks like George Washington

    Or maybe it’s a woman with big white hair

    It matches the snow falling

    The icicles look like fangs

    All the rooftops are slathered with white

    The streets are clogged with white

    A snow day it will be then

    No school, no German lessons

    I’m talking to myself again

    The walls are listening

    The peeling wallpaper doesn’t fool me

    I know there’s life in there

    Beyond the burnt flowers and gravestones

    The heat is up too high again

    I have to open my bedroom window

    And stick my head out to cool off

    The snow tastes like nothing

    It just disappears

    Like everything does

  • Chalkboard Gore

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    I’ve had dreams about these volcanoes before

    There, in that claustrophobic closet on the upper floor

    The one where I would hide from the world

    Too big of a world, hot world, noisy world

    A world never fit for me

    And a me never fit for the world

    If only anyone could see

    The things that I see

    The volcanoes three in a row

    Spewing harsh talk and hot lava

    I was the one hiding below the bleachers

    Always too scared to come out

    I was worried they’d throw rocks at me again

    And I would just let them

    Laughter and taunts were all the rage

    My calliope grandeur

    My silver snow cage

    My mind fell off a turnip truck

    That’s what they would say

    In the glory days of chalkboard gore

    Drawings and math

    And I hid away inside my own hollow soul

    Addicted to Hot Tamales candy

    And the urge to just get high and walk around a forest

    But that’s not part of the way

    Everyone needs to be the same

    Let’s go to the conform store

    And by you a face that doesn’t offend

    I have to hold my soul together with two hands

    Like a torn paper grocery bag full of vegetables and cans

    Everything is spilling out and hitting the ground

    The brain pain makes me howl

    Take a pill and swallow

    Let it burn away the freedom you seek

  • Ladder Salad

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    A rusted, copper heart

    Salad gathered on the rung of a ladder

    Still feeling… I just don’t know how to explain it

    Disinterested in most things

    Impatient and irritable to a degree

    But not shaking

    Quick to anger at the mountain of gods

    Remembering Raton and the Robin Hood Motel

    Winter bliss at the border

    Worried about a celestial soup of things

    Must focus on her and the fact we have love

    But  always looking outward at space

    Too disgusted by the state of the world

    Nervous about cooking

    Nervous over noise

    Memories of the tomato soup bitch

    French foreign films

     A loneliness, an indescribable emptiness

    Maybe boredom, restlessness, cooped up at home too much

    Need to work, desirous of a paycheck

    But I don’t want to deal with bullshit

    Sometimes things feel good

    The sun is out and crooked

    The roses are blooming


    A reminder that my new book is now available for purchase: The Apocalypse Pipe. Available in both e-book and print editions! Thanks for reading and supporting independent creators.

  • Reality Doesn’t Sell

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    The eye of the glossy tender

    Am I merely a revenant spirit

    To cast glows of comatose

    Leopard skin lies

    Dandelions adrift to an island

    Sanctimonious prayers over the smokestack

    Puffs of passion

    The smell of it

    Raspberry licorice

    In the glass case at the candy shop

    Where the man with the plastic hand works

    His lifeless appendage

    Would clunk on the counter

    Before we went

    To the lake on a warm summer day

    The cold blueness of it

    The simple eternity of it

    The red lighthouse is like a spike on the horizon

    Vast blue, white clouds

    A sentry point of escape

    How we all long to escape

    From simply here to somewhere else

    Always painfully hungry for somewhere else

    In search of that perfect life everyone else has

    Take a drug — perfect life

    It’s what they show us

    Never the reality of say, cancer

    Just happy faces laughing, great times

    Reality doesn’t sell

    Reality isn’t profitable

    And capitalism isn’t real life