Aliens
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Cockle Squash
It’s Christmas Eve in a town the color of burgundy and pine Cold stars and tattered clouds float within the inky-bruised canopy Store windows glow yellow, the brick of the small buildings are the color of slightly burnt toast People shuffle along the walks frosted with fresh snow They peek into the shop portals and… Continue reading
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Naked Clown
A coffee clown sits in a silver diner He looks out the window and watches the rain He thinks about the maddening world and the chaos and the pain His white face and green mouth are showing sadness Maybe I should show up at work naked, he thinks. That will shake things up, maybe knock… Continue reading
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Corn of the Aliens (2)
Harold jumped up and ran outside. The screen door slammed behind him as Bruce Springsteen music played from the clouds. The stars, hidden by the grunt of daylight, were there in the pointed universe. He made his way across the warm grass of the yard. He opened the gate on the white picket fence and… 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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Doughnut Dreams and Alien Hope
The storms lull dreams to Wonderland And I was suddenly sleeping in a bakery case I was lying right next to a maple Long John My droid tells me this: Long John donuts are a type of yeast-risen pastry that is shaped like a bar and can be glazed or topped with icing. They may… Continue reading
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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… Continue reading
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Roswell 1969
The low machine hum of the big, big city is entrenched in gaslight dawn. The birds and the killers are mum, waiting for the razor light of god’s heart to percolate and breed as the handmade souls rise, wash and run. And it was a hot day in the desert, a blowtorch sky was blowing… Continue reading
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The Moldy Oranges of God
The walls of the room where I was being kept were a sickly yellowish orange color. Perhaps more akin to the color of a bleached peach. On one of the walls was a large painting of a maniacal-looking man holding a moldy orange in each of his hands. Continue reading
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Refrigerated Dreams (Act 4)
The boy from the refrigerator was perched upon a steel beam like a vulture high above them in the old shoe factory. His slick black hair was more slick than usual. The dead eyes of alien blue that punctuated his pale face swirled like a spiral arm galaxy as he looked down at them. He… Continue reading
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Child of the Cabbage (End)
Gracelyn Polk was on her stomach on a small bed in a girlish bedroom of pink. Her legs were bent upward at the knees behind her, socked feet crossed, as she lazily flipped through a teen magazine. A Who record spun on a small turntable in its own red box that could close with a… Continue reading
cereal after sex 