Category Archives: Writing

saliva slings loosed

Her Midwinter Blues I pine for the days of guileless saliva slings loosed down to my toes, before the unexpected guttings and unremitting blood—ratiocination fading—eddying down the bathtub drain… “Every man you ever meet is nothing but the product of … Continue reading

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the queso blanco

The Grilled Cheese Camorra (redux) Henry found Mao, Fidel and his mother at the foot of the bed. They sat cross legged on the floor. Castro held a cast iron pan up for the Chairman’s approval. The Chairman said, “Your … Continue reading

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don’t crawl inside

found poem (3.0) / interstices (111516) “… the smell of steelit’s warm it’s visceralthe smell of bloodand steelit’s warmif you are in a situation like thatdon’t crawl insidein the middle of the roomevery person who had his phone callingwas killed…” … Continue reading

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today is inertia

Limn the Cathode Nimbus / 2.0 Today I cut a window into existence; I revived the dead. Today I layered a patina of platinum and white on the familial palimpsest; the kinetic became inert. Today the atavistic became avuncular. Today … Continue reading

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soggy piss-chips

Building / SILENCE Building fictions is an addiction not easily quenched. A need, psychological and physiological that renders one a hamster inside the wheel—no stopping until you’re ejected into the corner where all the soggy piss-chips accrue. Bring pleasant talk … Continue reading

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tang of petroleum

2029 The air is sharp with the tang of petroleum and machine fluids. Tendrils of perfume pin prick the air. You follow that scent to the end of a street where the bodies are piled chest high. “So here’s my … Continue reading

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sea urchin prickly

mary’s lament 07/29/1990 he said i must discipline my temperament—crush my egoism. it’s like my medulla oblongata was on sale for $1.25 at zayre’s—compare… you can’t do better than zayre—trust was power, father on the prowl—and as neptuna’s only daughter … Continue reading

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a thunderous welcome

Dream 1,823 (redux) He woke up with the Spinners’ “I’ll Be Around” ear-wigging his head. He had this dream 1,822 times since seeing the performance one Saturday morning in 1973. The gold and ruddy light of it. The smoking jackets … Continue reading

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son of violence

I was a jackanapes in Sevastopol when sloth consumed me.Now I’m fagged on a stackof lighted pyre, the funeralin progress. I was the son of violence,and as begets one so highly skilled:a gun-licker & barrel-blowerwho shot off his own nose.My … Continue reading

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in hype city

Hormone Brouhaha in Hype City Pleas go unheeded Plaster of Paris casts are discarded Pantunflas and precocity are abstracted in medical journals “Unblock Party: When you’re having trouble thinking of new ideas, go to one of your old ideas and … Continue reading

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