Category Archives: Uncategorized

  haiku trio:   bone chill embrace fog rolls in hissing — a starless sky swallowed whole — in bone chill embrace     just like sister ray said sister ray dances naked after vespers as a blind rat watches … Continue reading →

THE IMMACULATE CONCEPTION AND STROBING SANTA Sucking craggy rocks pebble smooth my mother walked into the wall of an opium den. She bloodied her nose, broke water, and expelled me on an ottoman. I mooned and glowed to the on/off, … Continue reading →

¡es un automatismo franco y elevado! “The best writing advice I’ve ever heard: Don’t write like you went to college.” — Alice Kahn

Violet Bathroom Dictator He is the violet Bathroom dictator; King of the plastered Hairspray combover. He is fall October turning chill at 10:09 p.m.; A smoldering Ruin, abandoned house burnt. He is tornadic Aftermath, roiling clouds receding; Waxing solar eclipse. … Continue reading →

Saul Goldfarb’s Shiva (The end of a year-long penance for both of us…)   I was cordially invited this morning To remember Saul Goldfarb. I don’t know who Saul Goldfarb is; or rather, who he was,  and I don’t know … Continue reading →

My Friend Goo My friend Goo is fierce, but she’s a troubled sort. The kind of girl whose mother framed “The Serenity Prayer” and hung it up in her bathroom, so every time Goo sits on the toilet she has … Continue reading →

The Shrunken Head  All night she dreamt of shrunken heads.  She awoke haunted and restive.  In the dream a shrunken head in flames hovered over her and her cat, which was surprisingly undisturbed by the apparition but nonetheless pawed at … Continue reading →

Pinwheel Practice at the Proving Ground   Overheard at the artillery field… Let’s take out that minuscule target with a 240 mm cannonade. No need to sight anything let’s just shoot willy nilly. Let’s just load them up and fire … Continue reading →

Pocket o’ Blues Maria says posthaste when she means post-punk.  It has something to do with the wiring in her head.   I have a box full of letters, and she has a box full of coca leaves from her … Continue reading →

The Point Clodomira’s legs are whirring pistons.  She’s up over 100 revolutions per minute on her bike.  The countryside streaks by her and in these few seconds there is no revolutionary struggle, no ultimate leader, no great leap forward.   … Continue reading →