Tag Archives: Writing

The Daily Ablution (redux) There is a boy whose head is on fire.   A nine year old boy who has recently dispensed with god and love because they dispensed with him.  His father beats his mother on occasion — preferably in the … Continue reading →

Caustics & Acrostics For $20 someone phones me and spits insults, in Cuban-inflected Spanish, through my earpiece. I also invest in seed packs for vanity, narcissus, and temerity. My fingers are refracted in the water backing up in the sink. … Continue reading →

Memorable Stuff I Read This Week Life is full of strange absurdities, which, strangely enough, do not even need to appear plausible, since they are true. — Luigi Pirandello / Six Characters in Search of an Author To study the … Continue reading →

Stabbing A dream. A nightmare furls in twilight. And plunges the night into stabbing. Stabbing. A post-modern city in twilight. A shambles of yesterday. Stabbing. A slick ruination. Dark pincers of light. Stabbing. Gangs of insanity run through the night. … Continue reading →

The Stall Dwellers A remarkable, if sadly overlooked, fellow (himself a Hustle Job) planking his own thoroughfares to eternity. An equally troubled magpie (beautifully played by the ghost of Mrs. Noir) flops into seclusion for a jest muzzle — a … Continue reading →

A Grand Idea (redux) Well, it didn’t snow on Christmas, and certainly not in Maria’s home town by the sea. Oh, the places she could roam! Now, the only thing Maria wanted for Christmas was a plague doctor’s mask—with a … Continue reading →

Smell of Tar I’m curious. How did you get here? According to my records you have a Pontiac station wagon with exterior wood panels on the doors, and yet you say God is in your kitchen filching the gas and … Continue reading →

The Apotheosis of the Crab What if what I wanted to write what didn’t need to be written? What is this strange atmosphere that has settled over me? One of my holy ghosts has scrammed for a patch of stratocumulus, … Continue reading →

Jingle This is what I see as I screech this joyride. I take a photo because I prefer Icelandic volcanic fissures to insurrectionist presidents or atmospheric rivers with their attendant storm water floods. I’ve copy and pasted manifold eons there … Continue reading →