Zippers on Donuts, Cathedrals on Mars
Sure, I read Bukowski. He’s good. To me he’s good. I got to be in the right mood, though. Some...
Mars
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...
The Escape Artist
Oxidized eyes and diamond fireflies doing the rotating Merry-Go-Roundabout above in the sky, under hot sun ozone hole as I’m...
