Creative Writing
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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… Continue reading
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Naked Clown
A coffee clown sits in a silver diner He looks out the window and watches the rain He thinks about the maddening world and the chaos and the pain His white face and green mouth are showing sadness Maybe I should show up at work naked, he thinks. That will shake things up, maybe knock… Continue reading
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Champagne Goblins
I had deviled the salads for far too long when the clock struck negative one. A perplexing complex of half octave nog ran amuck in the rosary room where the group had gathered to monotonously pray to a virgin. The egg sandwich shop across the street was blazing orange, and the sign outside depicted a large… Continue reading
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The Pot Pie Wonder Wall
His apartment is high and made of glass. He looks over the pinpricks, the massive cluster of skyscrapers. All is quiet inside. All is chaos outside. Black smoke rises. Spots of flickering orange mark the fires. There are swarms of people crushing forth toward the barricades. The questionable neighborhoods are cut off from the rest… Continue reading
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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… Continue reading
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Ghouls
Picking awkwardberries from the tree of life A subway car injects the city with shaking souls Human fluids in the test tube With windows and lights and broken dreams and cataclysmic days Green and amber are the aching colors of another dark noc (night) Round heavens bloodied with tar Heroin tracks are stars Red forests… Continue reading
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The Tick
A man named India felt like a voodoo doll the morning of his electric birthday. The pinpricks stabbed at him like tiny little swords. He wasn’t feeling right in the head. Something about turmoil and fissures cracking open like in the Earth itself. The steam and liquid magma were leaking out inch by inch and… Continue reading
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The Oblong Warlock
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… Continue reading
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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… Continue reading
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Pink Floors
I want to go to dreamland and stay there. To live among the colored angels and broken glass voodoo kings. To be anything but this comatose soul. To be anything but a sleepy creepy doll in a kaleidoscopic straitjacket of the mind. Now autumn longing. The orange sun ablaze on the ground and in the… Continue reading
cereal after sex 