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Ashen Dump Cake

I ate some cake last night that tasted like cigarettes I dubbed it an ashen dump cake Even though it was supposed to be lemon It reminded me of a church cavern One with green carpeting and porcelain statues of bleeding saints and such And there was that tall priest who enjoyed drinking cola and… 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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Dance for Armageddon

I have licorice guts. Seemingly endless balls of fire, balls of fortune telling. The osprey float. Warm coffee in the desert. 112 degrees out there today. I had to take an ice bath in a crystal tub. The doorbell rings, incessantly, at the most inappropriate time. Everyone wants to talk to the wonder man. The… Continue reading
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And the World Looks Away

Vibrato shattered shells Mortal coils unwound The dirty veil of the Earth Chokes on its own existence They are coming from the stars The ancestors of faith To bludgeon the black souls of the inept And the people take pills In hopes of some relief From the wrong way they live The inside-out dimension Where… Continue reading
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Corn of the Aliens (1)

There’s the smell of something sweet coming from the kitchen. Corn dogs. Corn bread. Corn Flakes. Cornmeal. Corn on the cob. Corn chowder. Corn pie. Corn on the moon. Corn in space. Corn of the aliens. It was a hot, burning day. One of those days that feels like one walked into a blast furnace… 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



