Love Stories
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The Last Love
I found her she came out of nowhere some angel called beautiful holds me under the sun calms me through the storms loves me through everything no matter my faults, my scars she’s my last love the only one ever meant to be beautiful beyond beautiful and I hold her in my heart every single… Continue reading
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Light Night
She is like the light the blue light, that crops life into some picture-perfect kiss and heart wandering I go, clouds and echoes they pour down and talk about love in every sun-drenched step she smiles and says it’s all right and even when I look out into loneliness as the sun drops and the… Continue reading
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The Moon Has Its Own Scars
The moon has its own scars, just like the sun and all the planets. Most men and women have scars if they’ve lived any, if they’ve breathed any, loved any, hated any. I stood out in the yard last night because the moon was big and bright, and all those scars were visible to me… Continue reading
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Awkward Llamas
She is fireworks over a city that sits like candles torchlit and like flames. She is a walk on a quiet street in the dark with murals of Dylan in her head. She is quiet glances out a window, sleep drifts, warm against me in the rain of our devotion. She is life as I… Continue reading
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The Baker
The murals of human clouds. Bakers in bakeries thinking of what it would be like to not have to wake up so early. What would it be like not to have to press out into the day when the sun has barely begun to breathe, and the world is painted a worrying, cold blue. He… Continue reading
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Weird Hair and Roses
She is beautiful on a space sofa, that cushioned ass. The ambient drive of a midnight cockatoo tail. A tale of breathlessness, a tale of wind in the face on a warm summer day. Vanishing, all vanishing like liquid ghost meat… Continue reading
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The Last Drop
John Horatio Smith was an odd man. He sold top hats in the men’s boutique down the street. The street that streamed near Jack Kerouac’s grave. He sold top hats to idiots, to henchman, to rich and bolshy bastards eating wet cigars for an afternoon snack. John loved his work. No, he really hated it.… Continue reading
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The Gravy Canoe of Wild Wyoming – 12
Steel Brandenburg III felt the presence of a large wild animal as he stood on the back patio of the Gould house. He could hear the animal struggling to breathe. He turned to see her there with a disappointed look on her face. “Can you please explain what that was all about?” Carrie said to… Continue reading
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The Gravy Canoe of Wild Wyoming – 11
The Gould house smelled like Sunday dinner and the trappings of commercialized religion. Continue reading
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The Gravy Canoe of Wild Wyoming – 10
“My, my, Melba,” Pastor Stikk said. “I can certainly see where Carrie gets her delicious beauty from. My God, if you were an ice cream cone, I’d lick you all over.” His laugh that followed was boisterous and sickly. Continue reading
cereal after sex 