may day |
The songs are screaming like a row
of teeth, all hard on the outside
holding little blue guns.
Drainpipes begging to be hit
and my fist don't feel anymore
since she said that thing about the
nu...
Posted by on Fri, 01 May 2009 13:32:00 GMT |
the zero man's brother (and again (part II)) |
The zero man had a twin brother who was known as the one man. Theone man was bitter and very opinionated. It should go without sayingthat he was also alone and resented it very much. The one man did n...
Posted by on Tue, 14 Apr 2009 10:32:00 GMT |
a real nowhere man |
He is the zero man, the sum of all his failures. His shirt isuntucked and he smells of beer, eyes glassy from pique or rheumyabusings. He is the same man with no words for fixing as he was the daybefo...
Posted by on Sun, 12 Apr 2009 17:11:00 GMT |
oh, all time is slippery like worn sand |
There are skinned-knee boys circlingthe magnolia, all with piercing eyesand each a sea unto himself. There aregirls waiting by a pitcher of tea, lemon-sweattrickling the sides just noticeableover the ...
Posted by on Tue, 17 Mar 2009 19:40:00 GMT |
aversion and dilution |
I sell it afire, aloof in diluted proofreadersyncopation, all scissor kicks and liturgiesunwritten.Pressed on like unwashed martyr hipsin subway cars at the last well-litstation, the drunks grown quie...
Posted by on Thu, 05 Mar 2009 19:31:00 GMT |
a hundred to one |
homecoming, late and drunkkiss the lightning outside the latticeworkthe crippled aunt in the windowand you threw a bottlecap towards hertowards the tessellated night skyawash in bad intentionand swoll...
Posted by on Tue, 27 Jan 2009 00:06:00 GMT |
the end of time, outside |
Whiskey spent and daringthe outlying night for troubleswritten in the creases of her momma's brow.There is money on the sawbuck tablefor the takingif you think you can skirt aroundthose glassy drunken...
Posted by on Mon, 26 Jan 2009 23:28:00 GMT |
when the music's over |
Who conjured up those parking lotfist fights where the gravel and dirtfound all the concavities of the spineand nestled in there like homesteaderslit on freedom, like bootleggers instifling hot August...
Posted by on Sun, 25 Jan 2009 01:56:00 GMT |
something she said |
her skin on my skin,skin of my skin.some dim fire out beyondthe scarred nightbreathes her whisperin behind the smokeof intention.my skin is the drumfor catching her heart'shigh beating.my hand is the ...
Posted by on Mon, 08 Dec 2008 16:38:00 GMT |
the great depression |
A happenstance of ugly biblesand withered gladiolasgathered in the floorand she gave a wooden staretowards yonder roomwhere a mess of children painted their white bellieswith bacon grease and stabbedt...
Posted by on Thu, 04 Dec 2008 22:47:00 GMT |
