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Everyone dies in the summer When the sun doesn’t set. It just sits in the sky Like a scar that won’t heal But instead only gushes Hot, infected, Blood Over everything. It is murder in broad daylight.
The sun dies in the room when you block the window. I should have heard you come in, but I was writing a letter. Few things can disturb me in the mesmerisation of composition. It wasn’t so much the content, but the mantra of art. A writer who stops writing for anything else but more … Continue reading
I’m drunk and feeling good and I might as well tell them. Heck. They keep asking questions. So many questions. Why this? Why that? Why aren’t you answering truthfully? They aren’t saying the last one, but it’s suggested in their shrugs and their coughs and the silence afterwards. They can tell I’m dodging. They see … Continue reading
There is a poem about unhappiness That is written so beautifully That the author who penned it Knew she would never scrawl Something like it ever again And so she got up, Put a gun into her mouth, And clicked Only to find that she had Picked up a water gun instead That shot a … Continue reading
Look. You’re okay. It’s just another rejection. Look. You’re okay. You’re still typing, still banging off on a keyboard. It’s got to mean something, particularly because you wrote the word meaning and that means something, right? You don’t know. But you’ve looked and you’re still here, wherever that is. You wish it were someplace else … Continue reading
It’s weird having sex with someone who’s had it before. Not that I’m saying it’s not fun or anything. It’s just they are on you and then they move into positions they already know and they are comfortable and you’re bony so you move a bit, over there, yeah, and you clap and they clap … Continue reading
I’m in a bathroom and so is she, a hair found in the inside of my pee-pee. Did she put it there or did I, when we were kissing, foundling, a sexual goodybye? I pull it out, the buoy in a rumbling sea Piss screams, and we bleeds from me.
The candle starts tall Before sputtering To burn bright, Bright enough to make It small And smaller yet Until it is only a wick And a weak flame That could light The whole house on fire.
“Who’s the best writer you know?” Well, I am. Sure I could’ve not started with well and I could’ve written some riff-raff that really got ya moving and swinging right from the start like warm water in a shower that just makes ya sing. But knowing these possibilities doesn’t take away from the claim. I … Continue reading
I sometimes think that if the sun would explode, I wouldn’t notice. I’d just wake up like I always do with a grunt and a heavy hand hitting snooze. Another alarm would go off and another grumble would accompany it. We’d battle for the airwaves – an electronic cacophony and a Cro-Magnon vestigial etymology – … Continue reading
Mizpellt wurdz 