In the morning I eat bacon, hash browns, and a crepe cooked in the microwave. I drink vanilla from a glass filled with black seeds to help get my pill down. I stick an Icyhot to my mother's back, soothing her spasms as we drive to go stuff letters in jaundiced envelopes, and smack small … Continue reading Boise – A Poem
creative writer
Cherub Street- A Poem
Cherub Street They say if you go on a Full lit night down to Cherub street, Past the sundown There is a woman with Rotted pettycoats And arms so thin the Veins are bulging worms, who Carries a bell jar she uses To trap moonlight. They say If you ask her how It tastes she will … Continue reading Cherub Street- A Poem
Fragments – April 2018
"What is there to confess that's worthwhile or useful? What has happened to us has happened to everyone or only to us; if to everyone, then it's no novelty, and if only to us, then it won't be understood. If I write what I feel, it's to reduce the fever of feeling. What I confess … Continue reading Fragments – April 2018
The Last Death – A Parable
The Last Death After Franz Kafka "But death, insofar as it belongs to me and belongs to me alone, since no one can die my death in my stead or in my place, makes of this non-possibility, this impending future of mine, this relation to myself always open until my end, yet another power." - … Continue reading The Last Death – A Parable
Merchant of Joy – A Poem
Merchant of Joy Hollow by the river just some miles from Riggins Lee and I work to the bone to make sure everyone is happy parading in dishwasher’s gloves and big glassy bug-head masks barefoot through the tall grass and brambles never minding the cuts we play mandolin music on the radio while we make our way naked … Continue reading Merchant of Joy – A Poem
The Smoke Over Turisall – A Story
The Smoke Over Turisall The old man laid on a bed of furs. Minks, bears, otters, and squirrels were all stitched together into a massive wrap, cocooning his frail body like a sickly butterfly. He clenched a long, ancient pipe between his teeth. It would have been worth something once, finely crafted with minute engravings … Continue reading The Smoke Over Turisall – A Story
Escanciador – A Poem
Escanciador I love to the taste of an apple core Hard and full of seeds like teeth An inconvenient poison of time Hardly digestible Stuck in throats Willing to grow once poured away Properly and with care Gone with the demands of tradition I bubble in silt
