Creative Writing
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Elvis in Atlantis
I saw Elvis making crop circles in Atlantis from the window of my pink wooden house Continue reading
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Sun burns world
Halfway through the memories on haunted hill, halfway through the turnstiles stuck in glue, sun burns red, sun burns blue, a wind sick hotel in desert hue Continue reading
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My Vimana
I closed the hatch and ignited the mercury, and we went up, up, up and out through the retractable skylight of night like Mr. Wonka and his magical elevator. Continue reading
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The Escape Artist
Memories are deposited, the pains and joys withdrawn – it’s like black-and-white Poland to me, wandering in rags, sleeping in parks, losing muscle just to hustle. Continue reading
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Unintentional Evil
I can’t say anything anymore, it doesn’t fit through the walls — the sun paper is too thin over the windows, and no one knows I’m still alive inside. There is no fortune to be had behind these LA eyes of sparkling white and bright. And I saw a window cleaner on a skyscraper fall… Continue reading
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The Alone Test
I was alone to the bone On an afternoon in Rome The ballistic tests all positive Spears sharpened to a bird-beak point The traffic keeps rolling in honking circles ‘Round a statue of some Italian holy hobo There are flaming balls on catapults And smoky talk in the underground lounge The voices rise into the… Continue reading
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Giant in Skin
There’s this long line of darkness on the other side of day I stand there listening to the starless sky flow like Styx There’s that smooth dome of light pollution Pulsing like an orange Creamsicle Never sleeping, always dripping Like childhood summer sun And all above it, that starless sky Humming in rhythm, And a… Continue reading
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The Swimming Window
And there were orange baptized bullets lodged in a wall of sea salt adobe and skull, a hard skull of architecture burned and bandaged the sun was far too bright as I dug them out with the tip of a knife and I was suddenly cursing the violence of Southwest sweat and artificial love and… Continue reading
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The Machine Man in the Wheat
Fred strolled off to the produce department, but there wasn’t much there. The stores are never stocked that well anymore. I followed him over and together we looked at a handful of oranges as if we were visiting a zoo for fruit. Continue reading
cereal after sex 