Make all due haste through airless waste, my mother read to me. / Work quickly with your regolith! but I was only three / and didn’t understand the words / or where our ship was headed towards.
Remember, my soul, the thing we saw That soft summer morning: At the turn in the path, upon a bed of scattered stones, A carcass lying raw. Like a woman in lust with its legs in the air Burning and … Read More
the clacking of his thoughts sound like the anxious machinery of a typewriter, ribbon unspooling into ink-laden pages hammered by shakespeare’s thousand sweatshop monkeys he dreams he just woke up to find his mouth open and full of flies: their … Read More
It’s the little things you remember when you die. The children. The moments. Your face after achieving multiple simultaneous orgasms. The orgasms. The presidential campaigns, the incipient volcano underlying the western half of the continental U.S. It’s the little things … Read More
Perhaps strange, perhaps vague… How things can break and almost mend themselves, A little strange. How we succeed ourselves. Pioneers barely dominate infinitely As Parthenon becomes a Laurel and laurels become…. Become. Franchise, monetize….value nothing is immutable. On the verge … Read More
“I miss my brother’s 18th birthday. He spends it kneeling in pews and tossing crosses of stems and swallowing Christfuls of dirt. No one falls into the pit. Oh, adult. Fresh mint.”
They say she wears a mask that could launch a thousand ships and that with the purse of her lips, the white-gloved hands she uses to light thin, pretty cigarettes and drink Manhattans that she would launch them.
