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Sniff of vulnerability

Scribbles was a tough pussy with a pink bow that tied a knot of golden tuffs just above his lips that would hover over the bowl of water while you watched and he refused to take a drink because he didn’t want to show a sniff of vulnerability even if that meant he would die … Continue reading

Old dog slobbers

She wants me to inhale when she exhales, for her to be my breath, but we are only sharing waste between us, poison from the cells to the cells. * The walls are skin thin and wet when the neighbours in my condominium mow the lawn with their teeth but not with too much bite, just … Continue reading

Means nothing

Warmth is just kinetic energy which is a real shame because we are immobile in bed and I can swear you’re sweating from our fight, or maybe those are just tears that have gone cold from movement. * Drag me to hell because at least I’ll have the heat without the inconvenience of the cancer of … Continue reading

The cannibals are out tonight

Wet dogs clean themselves better than this fatty bus slopped with age that streaks its wear into me with each bump and I wonder if the first astronauts looked back and asked where they were going to go now because they’d never get off at that stop again where toothpicks poke up, up, up pretending to be … Continue reading

Scabs

I am an empty, flabby bag of skin going bad that was going to write my last poem today but I cut my thumb while capping the pen and I saw that there was still a little bit of me left to read and a little bit more that could press itself onto you until … Continue reading

Genealogy of emptiness

The only advice my father ever gave me was to never be a father. * My father taught me how to be a writer by pounding away at something unformed and useless until it stops quivering and bleeding and sits still, waits, listening to the quiet of ideas. He knew what he knew, which is great, … Continue reading

Dead things float

For a while now, I have felt like I need to cry and I don’t know why, which I suppose is reason enough to cry, but I do not, which I suppose is another reason to cry. * Goldfish have more recognition than you about how far we’ve sunk, but I guess we forgot how … Continue reading

Ready to fuck up heaven

Wake up each day as though you’re straight from hell ready to fuck up heaven if it gets in your way, and then, create paradise. * There was a poet I knew who paid for their living with poetry because she printed each stanza, each line and rhyme on a hundred dollar bill and the … Continue reading

Solid to sludge

Sitting on a dick that’s limp she reminds me of the happiest day of my life when I am five and my father brings a cake to wish me a happy birthday and he says he’s happy really happy and so am I – both of us the happiest after a life he pieced together … Continue reading

All we have

I was left believing that I’d do anything for you but this is the left over bits of anything, and you have lost faith in us despite everything, which I suppose leaves me with nothing except this. * I want to write a line that would fix all of it but I only have this … Continue reading