“This snowfall is my final fantasy. Once America the woman was coming on my dick, her flag pin a pinhole to a world without strife. But then—” he sneezes. “Let me begin again. Terrorism. The weeping willow lowers her hair … Read More
I am to have this gold when you die. To buy ink for poems crumpled on the carpet purchased with your cancer. You’ll make nothing as a writer. But my materials are cheap. Each verse I write about you merely … Read More
Tissue paper face held over a match. Night dangles from rafters, perfume chemicals burn. Daylight burns like faces on the screen skin-soft, bleached and bloody. Picture this: grey background, rose buds flailing. Narrow angles abstract and brief … Read More
from here, leaning out beyond their yard. They are fence-prone and rubber-necked. Looking in, maybe. I sense a vulturish curiosity and sink back. Meanwhile, my dad has fallen asleep on the couch. He is darker … Read More
Bee Hive, which happens to be a fifteen minute walk away from here, is just as awesome, actually more awesome because it’s more frequent and reliable and lasts longer and is overall a better investment for the whole family and … Read More
“There’s always summer to/think/realize/laze./There’s always summer/and the year after that/and the year after that/and the year after that/and the rest of our lives.”
