She had captured his attention but, in his state, he wasn’t ready to reciprocate.
Surrounding loneliness with all that comes with writing and wrapping it all tightly around like a hug.
She swirled the noodles into a tight knot around the outer tines of the fork. Sauce dripped down her chin and onto her dress
To give one thing for another.
To create in the mind a picture of what could be.
To act with another in harmony.
lasting out of a solar flare, he broke through earth’s atmosphere and landed on the 10 freeway, somewhere between Texas and California.
Of swirling dust, giant tumbleweeds, snorting horses, distant gunshots, crying children and a woman’s embrace.
One hand fumbled for something inside a shirt. A necklace made of wooden beads all cascading down on a fishing line that ended in a lower case “t”.
Now after rain, rapids and collisions with hands and debris, the little boat was becoming heavy.
You’ll find it when you’re not even looking and if your being isn’t ready it’ll slip out of sight just as quickly as you blink.
The DJ booth was right in front of me, blocking the quickest route. I turned left. Something licked my right ear. I looked.
When she felt the pressures of all that is external tightening her body, she would let the curves, slopes and speed of a ride loosen her up.
She wore the band t-shirt I gave her before COVID cancelled the concert. I wore the band shirt she gave me the night before I wouldn’t see her for weeks after.
It is dark in the morning.
It is dark in the mourning.
Let it be
in the silent scream
of a shooting star.
Life can be so sweet.
A shitty Korean car idles in a closed garage. A special snorkel from exhaust to cracked window helps the old man understand the punchline.
The boy is catching the right diseases at the right time. Praise god, thank you father and continue to bless us.
I got up in the middle of the “debate” to roll back the sliding glass door to the back yard. My dogs ran out and sniffed for their spots in the dust patch I call a yard.
There is no action that adds without subtracting or subtracts without adding. The idea that one is good and the other is bad is simply another part of the same vagaries we all maintain.
If what I think is true then ill have a cigarette, hell ill have a black and mild and suck it back until it melts the plastic or burns the wood.
“You see that star right in the middle of Orion’s belt? That’s where Jesus is right now. That’s where He (capital H) is going to come from to take us home. That’s where heaven is.”
Advice. The combination of advertisements and vice. The persuasion of vice on the platforms of advertisements.
It was true. In those moments however, when those men came with the full knowledge that we had not come close to anyone in the tournament, I wanted to play to win. Fuck fun, I wanted murder.
My threshold for surprise is changing right before my eyes, which are going blind. Oh god pull over now. Jesus. Ive never felt worse in my life.
A lonely moonlit bassoon plays discordant notes in my mind. Sympathy bangs the timpani and I scowl.
Hey dad, I think I drink too much.
A lunch with my Aunt in which I cannot clearly remember if I was intoxicated or not. I remember itching for a cigarette as soon as I wolfed down the turkey salad on rye.
Blackout. Either way alcohol nurtures society but absolutely obliterates the individual.
And so, remember, I wrote this under a yellow porch light, slapping at mosquitoes, coughing up smoke from wild fires and thinking of me or you, or me.
The echoes of rejoicing muted by the island’s sands. Drowned by waves of realization that we are sound itself reverberating off of infinity’s pretzel-ed pipe.
The castles moved straight,
the horses made hooks
as the black and white shapes met their fate.
I look around at the others seated at the table. I don’t know yet if they’re people. I haven’t even figured out if I am to be human for the evening.
We bullshit some more. The couple danced. I can never remember names. Then the girl danced alone. I was towing the line between drunk and insanity.
When skunks didn’t remind me of smoking and mint was just for candy. When a quarter was more valuable in my piggy bank than in my pocket.
If you’re really against “flaming hot cheetos” that run “democracies” (your word, not mine) like dictators, then either put a bullet in his head or give your jabbering jaw a little slack. I know at least my ears will stop ringing from all your white noise, and it is white noise in more ways than one.
I have a hot temper
I am confident in changing a tire
I tremble when jumping a car battery
The question of my last breath is either sober or whiskey soaked. The continuous monologue in my mind reaches the end of its reel. I am not making sense but its my senses that make me.
I wake up rubbing my temple. GOD, an octogenarian with a full
head of white hair, exits the building. However, its
SCREECHING echoes still crash around my head.
Maybe I didn’t say hi. Maybe I needed more time. God knows you do.
I have a fake dog, it’s made out of plastic.
The tooth fairy took all your teeth but I think she also has your innocence, and you never saw a dime.
The wall unit is buzzing. A pool has formed from the steady drip of water, soaking the mat on the back porch. The dogs are splayed on the linoleum inside.
You’re grateful, excited and ready to move on but at the same time you’re wondering what happened, always wondering what happened, so that you’re not doomed to repeat your mistakes with the unicorn who touched your arm and said hello.
The light in the hall has two switches, never pointing in the same direction. One is always up. One is always down.
I came outside, after sobbing in bed, to write. Pincher pugs crawl everywhere and, though I don’t see them, crickets chirp.
I’m growing fat and lazy, less ambitious. Hungry only for scraps.
The glorious comfort of a star within Orion’s Belt being the home of Jesus does not comfort me. Lying to grandpa on his deathbed was a kindness, a little white lie. I do not know if there is or is not a heaven.
The tall boy’s are sweating. The Black & Mild is sweet. Tears don’t come but I can feel them coming like coyotes trekking through the desert, chasing a mirage, feeling the ache of relief but never reaching it.
is the theory
applied science need
Okay, I’ll have to perform orally. Actually I’m more comfortable with the term verbally if that’s alright with you?