Category: 500 or Less
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White Russian
When everything is fake like snakes And the lemons are made of wood And the faces are made of mud and evil I sit upon the throne of mundane jewels And wonder what the cable car smells like On the edge of an ice cliff I stand Look out over white Russia while drinking a Read more
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Daikon Peepshow
A long, stiff radish sits in the bin White in color Mild flavor No one knows what it is Passersby wonder A woman wants it in her mouth A psycho wonders if it can be sharpened into a weapon To help him escape the prison that is his life He strolls into the restroom of Read more
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Lemons
Dawn barks in a chill Sky gray blue Air silent Broken only by a lone loud engine Coffee cooling down Time drawing near To get up and go into the world That void of unknown That drama, comedy, tragedy Voices battle Chaos buzzing Talk, talk, talk And say nothing Someone complains about lemons While the Read more
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Weird 13
Nerves like cornsilk on fire A plume of atomic orange Flames of blueberry stroke A billion heads collapse and sleep Earth is a bed Towels are folded on shelves A long, lonely highway leads to beautiful isolation And good lonely, needed lonely Apricot orchards wear mind caps Black and white bat machines keep order with Read more
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And the World Looks Away
Vibrato shattered shells Mortal coils unwound The dirty veil of the Earth Chokes on its own existence They are coming from the stars The ancestors of faith To bludgeon the black souls of the inept And the people take pills In hopes of some relief From the wrong way they live The inside-out dimension Where Read more
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The Oblong Warlock
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Thirteen minutes to fill a capsized void. A laundry list of worry as the clock ticks in some kitchen bluebird hung neatly in the window and looking out onto the pleasant yard. Gas jaw dryer waits alone in the basement. Grandma’s caw caw like a crow beckoning me back inside. But I don’t want to Read more
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The Latvian Eye Clock
I stare at a blank mind. The paint has run dry. I have no color in which to recite the words of a Latvian king. The clock is a dot, numbers all nonsense like anti-gravity wine in a spaceship. I feel as if I need to bang my head against an ancient Peruvian wall to Read more
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City of Machines
I can see my tangled soul reflected in the winter lenses of an office building in the factory district. The background is sun and discomfort. A broken man sits on a bench holding a sign that reads: Why can’t I ever win? I walk through the city of stacks. No voices, only machines. They’re building Read more
CEREAL AFTER SEX 