Category: Memory Scrawls
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Yellow Yesterday
Yellow emotions skid across the floor of the only grocery store. Longevity unfurls in the cinnamon rolls. The man in the candy aisle is addicted to Hot Tamales—a fierce cinnamon-flavored chewy candy. Then there’s that yellowcake uranium house with the darkened, sunset kitchen that stands in the shadows. Aluminum windows, puffer-fish brick. The yard a Read more
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Sun Bones
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A red sunset is hanging in the sky A warm blotter of heat love Hanging on a hook in space, my thunder Talking to me about motion, heartbeats, time moving Like machines under the earth Your heartbeat tastes like chocolate Melting down my red bones and blue sky Love is but a moment Beneath those Read more
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Champagne Darkness
I want to wake up to a fire Out there, in those champagne skies Where my impending death Is but a sketch, an outline Circling the globe all stratospheric Love trailing behind Like a wet, creamy comet They don’t want to touch anymore So I climb the high brick I look out to sea I Read more
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Reality Doesn’t Sell
The eye of the glossy tender Am I merely a revenant spirit To cast glows of comatose Leopard skin lies Dandelions adrift to an island Sanctimonious prayers over the smokestack Puffs of passion The smell of it Raspberry licorice In the glass case at the candy shop Where the man with the plastic hand works Read more
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The Geranium Machines
The rose bushes are plummeting upward My baby-blue sick guts Calculating out the time In a warp, a bend Of space all nonsense Geranium machines Rattling off methodical defense Bullet showers in the windows Curtain calls Charm and sun and blood The euphoric day of another world Take me to Eden Sands A place in Read more
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36 Beautiful Scars
I take a solemn tablet and wash it down with fury That spirited ache of midnight The moon breaking bones out in the hall All the unforgiving and unforgivable things Line up like cracked dolls The shelf leans left The audacious propaganda on red and white A clock still ticks in an attic Time kept Read more
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Yesterday
Drawing blank French bread on a typical Thursday after a harsh rainstorm. Sometimes I feel empty. Sometimes I feel as if my soul is an unbodied mortal shell, a cistern with but a drop of water. Whatever can I gather from that? This. Wayward thoughts. Banana leaves. Golden taco trucks sunning themselves on the streets Read more
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A Boxer In the Dark of the Car
There’s something about lemonade in the summer that just hits me. Like right now, I can see the glass pitcher with the lemony yellow liquid inside. Someone is stirring it with a spoon. A glass full of ice cubes sits on the counter. Someone picks up the pitcher and pours the lemonade in the glass. Read more
CEREAL AFTER SEX 