Category: Travel
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Doesn’t that look lonely That orange, muddled horizon Two cars at the Americana Motel The yellow brick and brown doors Square, curtained windows A jagged neon sign Black circles and yellow arrows A lonely smear of bruised sky One that makes the heart swell And the soul inflate Broken people…
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+ 500 or Less, Creative Writing, Death and Life, Eerie, Flash, Other Places, Poetry, Travel, Western+
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There’s something about lemonade in the summer that just hits me. Like right now, I can see the glass pitcher with the lemony yellow liquid inside. Someone is stirring it with a spoon. A glass full of ice cubes sits on the counter. Someone picks up the pitcher and pours…
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this angel skull of Harlem doesn’t sing or sink like the wind. it’s laundry day in Manitowoc, the MAT is down by the old Navy ship resting in its watery grave and the sky and the rain is so damn gray and sad as I hoist canvas bag over shoulder…
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It was somewhere between Q-Town and the LA basin of all that glitters and orange grove cathedrals that there came the great snow and I was forced to shut down in some Arizona town— I was in between lives, feverishly dodging the corruption of compassion that come raining down all…
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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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Censor me still-lifetake my Tomah Graphswimming in the Hollywood Holiday Inn poolnow drowning in a pool of my ownpainful frustrations and jittersuninvited guests in the gray of nightthis brain hurts like cinema for Alexhave another stick of chewing gumanother stick of dynamite to ease the griefyou so gallantly feel at…
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“You’re the immigrant,” he snarled in a wild, earthy way. “And I’ll gladly knock you back to Europa.”
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I smelled like the remnants of a wild fiesta.
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CEREAL AFTER SEX 