Category: Creative Writing
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Blowtorch Pastoral is a space I created to post some of what I consider to be my more serious writing.
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An anguished chill hurts the night kingthe moans of traffic dissect the interstatelonely bellows of travelers of midnight passageand me, well meI don’t really even know where I am, who I am, why I amsome windy, flattened palaceof stone and glass and flickering neonand I a statue filled with blood…
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He got out of the truck and went closer to the water. It looked like a mirror with the way the light was shining down on it. He craned his neck up to look at the ivory disk and then he just started to scream like an animal.
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There is this guy seewho lives upstairs from mehe’s the weird upstairs walking guywalks and walksbut he never says hi – until today he looked disheveled and bruisedhair all a musstoting a bank bag full of moneyand I’m wondering what all the walking is forfloor to floorhe walks and walkstill…
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The girl’s eyes were wide and colored green like an emerald. I could taste her shock and fear. It was thick in the air. I noticed a broken a jar of olives on the floor, the juice trickling out and puddling.
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CEREAL AFTER SEX 