the funny thing
it’s the only home
you’ll never work to keep
and the neighbors
park in the driveway.
shrill off of the wall,
daring me to an act of honest and wholesome violence.
What is the death of a day?
on the side of the road
lay about to be carrion, easily dragged off
by some hovering
I’ve shattered clocks just to find out.
There are scalpels at the ready
But as patients go,
this one squirms on its gurney,
won’t take morphine,
and it bites
the way an angel caught in a jar might.
Don’t ask me for directions.
he bore no mark or shield and he was silent in the way a pall bearer or a pick-up fighter might be. and they whispered about him in the cowtowns and saloons, how when he took those men that night outside the sawmill it was … Continue reading call him slowburn
It’s Cruel a wing span spun of fear a dead cat, mouth ajar at the dark it faces air like bullets air like revenge air like a night-time scuffle in the alley or at the trainyard we all have things to greet us with the … Continue reading scribbled stream o’ conscious
Harry awoke to a rapid and urgent knocking on the front door. It was 2 AM. “Come friend, come!” cried the voice outside in a thick Polish accent. it was Eugene. Harry opened the door to find him panting, his white shirt pulled out and … Continue reading the biggest heel in the territory – 19