Magic
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Depressed Machines (Part One)
The taste of internal bleeding is that of metal, iron precisely. He feels it running down his insides, a reminder of mere flesh and blood. A crowd is gathered outside the tent to witness a miracle. Billy Halls is going to ascend to Heaven just like Jesus Christ. He’s been depressed lately and didn’t care… Continue reading
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Free Falling in a Mall
You can’t say “write like magic” It isn’t right to be so tragic And Nob Hill hip And Q-Town super fresh So write like magic despite the tetherships of the world I ache to conjure up all the words I need for literary architecture Why doesn’t my mind simply bleed? It’s a spring dream these… Continue reading
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Light Night
She is like the light the blue light, that crops life into some picture-perfect kiss and heart wandering I go, clouds and echoes they pour down and talk about love in every sun-drenched step she smiles and says it’s all right and even when I look out into loneliness as the sun drops and the… Continue reading
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The Electric Pancake House
In the warbled dawn of a coming hot summer day the crypto man wiles away in a labyrinth of enigma. The staircase to the pancake house was long and winding. He burst through and there were the smells of syrup and broiling butter. It was the essence of Isis, the corrugated dreams of a running… 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 Potion Maker
She smiled. She had big teeth that sat like aging tombstones losing their footing on the well-wormed ground of a spooky cemetery. Continue reading
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The Gravy Canoe of Wild Wyoming – 4
“These are my best ones,” he said, and he leaned forward and spoke quietly even though he didn’t need to because the shop was otherwise empty. “What color were you looking to paint these bastards’ mouths with? Huh?” Continue reading
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Radio-free Lamp Ray
I come from a place not known a high hill tucked far away behind the sugar plants and the factories belching out babies in bleached Red Radio Flyers Continue reading
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