Writing
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Staring At a Blank World
Staring at a blank world An absurd word Telepathy and oranges A blue envelope sits on the desk Scratchings of heartbreak within Duties of the monster coil I do not breathe recycled sin Antwerp and Amsterdam Nepal and bolognaise sauce on under ripe pasta The shanties swim in the grayness The mist of the clouds… Continue reading
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The Bangs of Midnight
“Turquoise turtles tell me where you are. I don’t want to walk around in this world without you, my love. I will fight to find you on the other side. I don’t fit in this world without you. My space with you is everything.” 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 Boy With The Spanish Bayonet
Her cactus bed smelled like butter nectar. She swears that lying down on the thorns helps her back, yet all the red marks there on her skin, looks like she was nearly eaten alive by fire ants. Fire ants. She remembers the hot summer day when she was maybe 12 and she was playing in… Continue reading
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The Sour Scarecrow
A dark day rises gallantly toward the sun. Love is tattooed on the skin of beckoning stars. Red huts line the perimeter of the crater. Down in the belly is where they grow worship plants. The royalty ships float above, the strong hulls crush the air, the flamboyant sails unfurl ahead of the breeze of… Continue reading
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Passages
Harpooned harlequins cascade like dominoes in the limelight trick of light down on the piccadilly row of southern Santa Monaco and the bow rips and the cow tips and the fringes of a mad mind unfold like warped bric-a-brac on a magic store shelf in Sicily comatose gold rope lassoed by Cowboy Bill and his… Continue reading
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The Dreamers of Fortune Street
Is it me causing all the ruckuses? Is it me blowing down all the brick walls? I went to the Centrifugal Theatre downtown because I wanted to watch a movie that made me spin. Halfway through the picture, an old black and white, the usher came up to me in his red uniform and monkey… Continue reading
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Strawberry Safari
“This won’t be on you. I’ll take full responsibility. I’ve already written my family a certified letter stating that I may do something crazy in Africa, but it’s no one’s fault but my own.” Continue reading
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Ambient Endless
Time is all nonsense now, like purple wine in a gravity-free cathedral. Jesus and his sex dolls are just spinning aimlessly. Continue reading
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Ms. Grundy and the Bone Ghosts (2)
Lloyd moved away from the window and went to the nurse-white neatly cluttered kitchen and fixed himself a cold chicken sandwich with salted cucumber wedges on the side and a fat glass of Ovaltine. Continue reading
cereal after sex 