Tag: Creative Writing
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There’s a half-empty bottle of Snapple on the desk Love is vicious Love is calm Love is everywhere And yet so distant In a world gone wrong Star maps line the walls Prescription bottles are collected on shelves Outside the sun is blazing Inside the time is draining Me This…
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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…
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“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.”
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There was a heart in Central Park. It was lying there in the curled leaves and the grass saying goodnight. It beat a bit but was slowing. I was sitting on the park bench watching. Nobody cared. The idiots were oblivious. I was alone as usual, trying to get some…
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He made it with her in the bathtub because she was bleeding. That animal. That gyrating, groaning animal. It was that negative breeding. She pulled him in, he slapped against her. They breathed, they kissed, they tangled. When they were done, they stayed in and showered. The water felt like…
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These nerves are voiceferous and restless, like a baby with Batman, a highball hangman, make them speak, red walls with dust, a sleeping woman, a YouTube chime in the head, celestial salad raining down from space. This world all nonsense, like the gravity of a rainbow, the yoga of a…
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A long morning yawns its mallow yellow yawn out there on the grass where the trees and the heart live, out there where the mad heat melts the orgy moon and capsizing starships. It was a day where I felt my guts reeling in agony and worry. I had been…
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And there I was, raspy as a ghost lost in time, so drunk on the night that I tried to put a pair of glasses on over another pair I was already wearing. Earlier I had been in the bookstore in the cloud city of Nashville. I saw the metal…
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He had a wandering image that followed him, something about ravioli in a lonely café somewhere on the other side of the world. Light rays harken down thin alleyways, the sun an orange ball in the sky, the clouds clotted with heat, melting like a sorcerer’s tongue on acid, leopards…
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CEREAL AFTER SEX 