And true enough, sometimes I imagine spiders with a longing unbecoming of an arachnophobe: Wrest eight knuckled legs from nothing weave ten fingers over my eyes stealing looks amidst primal shudders. What a dirty thrill. What a thing to write home about this existing in a calamitous light. It is as if, you say, you want to die. This, after… Read more →
this was somebody’s idea of paradise. a history loaded heavy with douglas fir, suspenders, and trucker hats. the townsfolk reminisce about industry. about the one log load. old growth giants hauled from a washboard to the lumber mills. these days, most are husks of broken windows and spray paint. the woods are crowded and dry as matchsticks. and the trucks… Read more →
there is a bowl with eight sharks and each shark is a gray mirror painted in different directions of wind. I flap my arms wildly in these tears to create a hole that resembles my face. at the edge of the bowl are my eight faces that reek of forgotten sunlight—as if sharks search for my sleeping bones. my sweating… Read more →
The small animal of my body curls in comfort at the sound of the rain, curls in the back seat of my car when I’m off the trail and clouds unfurl, and I’m dry, and the rain falls about. The small animal of my body does not know I have somehow become an adult. He does not know to hide… Read more →
the grass stays awake in father’s chest waits for static water recycled 허수 or strips its coats of lily herding boats from the dead our shoes that harbor cracked toes our slowness a veil no funeral the pipes will now fish for soil and ink
Your slow emergency charts the trajectory of the body’s pain, that rowdy incumbent. Tell me, retired child of the twisted south, is my sympathy butting in? Sitting silent kills me so I have a posthumous peptalk with my slain self—my lips are a snagged zipper, surgical glue in a weeping wound so someone else’s story is never scraped from my… Read more →
Jalisco, Mexico Hottest part of the dry season; only cactus and thorn trees blooming— hiking up the back fields to find the horses and give the old mare an IV for rehydration—the desert is no joke at this time of year or any time of the year if you’re crossing a border what with all those ways to die or… Read more →
“Il vecchio mondo sta morendo. Quello nuovo tarda a comparire. E in questo chiaroscuro nascono i mostri.” –Antonio Gramsci The wind finds us face down in the dirt,hair lifted above heads like prairie grass. We hung your shirt on a dead tree stumpand kept walking away from the sun. I remember a field of lavender.You whisper something about the pooreating… Read more →
hey that pup’s got a lot of fur a beautiful shiny coat of shiny beautiful fur that’s my pup the one with all the fur it’s a double coat overcoat undercoat of silky lustrous fur twice as much means nonstop shedding black on white clothes white on black clothes sweeping fur daily all year round lustrous silky omnipresent fur filling… Read more →
May falls like feathers in a heated fight with pillows, most people are not amused… The wind smacks fury through speculative green The crows, confused, mistake the milky roof for ruffled bundles of bloom Infanticide and famine as pristine throats are slowly fed by dutiful flakes Blackbirds give up control and deviate their course They had to cancel the circus… Read more →