Satan does, and they?re loaded. spilled in felt pews. Entertained by acolytes. One drink minimum, blood wine. Worshipping the donation plate. Paying for God luck, pure love, and manna from the Holy Mother Where is this jackpot? Take the bet on blasphemy: Under her robes, Unchecked since Christmas Spin the…
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A Story of Summer
Lets find true love And wait for it Beside Austin?s Townlake Lets screw the plane And jump from it Admiring the farm quilt below. Lets tattoo the tale On our inner lip Pain for permanence. Lets try for hope And damn the risks Of a door slammed in our face.…
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Brief Perfection
Languid, a liquid cat in no hurry To move. Perfectly poised to drip Among thoughts with cautious, Toe in puddle steps. A gurgling purr flowing around shins Of neurons. This rapture brings glances, Attention. A rising swell. Focus Builds into white caps. Wave crashing, smashing the cat Into non-existence. The…
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Auto Erotic Asphyxiation
A bag over my head, plastic. I was waiting, smothering my life away. The longer the wait greater the pleasure, closer to death more meaning, it must have. My lungs are red ants swarming so close to, I forget what? Drenched in sweat, you pierce the bag. My first breath,…
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Ode to the Back of Someone Else’s Poem
Thank God for the scrap paper The unused, the left over, the last piece of popcorn at the end covered in butter, the sweetest moment wanting to be taken, placed, made to have a purpose. The teeming text waiting to be flipped, exposed, a negative untouched, begging for light, contrast…
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Saturday Morning Lessons
Birth is liquid mercury. Just a spark and potential to be an animal. Puberty is a an upgrade, new abilities, Strength. The power to scrap enemies A new gun and new look. Death is when Dinobot just never returns (except when he’s cloned, of course) Deathbed speeches are always heroic…
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It Worked For Noah
In church, I used to wish there would be a flood So, I could swim from the balcony to the bowl-shaped chandelier. At least, I think it was a bowl. Between R.L. Stine and sleeping, I could only see the lip. But if the canals flooded, then I could reach…
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Summer Vacation
I: Church Lied: Hell is an ’87 Suburban merged with Arizona summer. Brimstone air, tar for seats. My own personal demon, my sister, Fangs with braces, an inhuman scream The guide said is was over a mile deep. Carved over millions of years by one nagging river. I wonder about…
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God is a Coleopterist
There is a beetle bible. There has to be. God’s favored children: eight million unique kinds. Big, little, black, half-red, blue, green neon iridescent, flying, flightless, waste removal, pollination, aphid farming, noise making. Let them have complete authority over all the earth. Trillions of tiny souls crawling, digging, sailing, skimming…
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The Real World (2)
He post-it notes a poem up in his cubicle supposedly written by Anonymous. He’s trying to be subtle about the way he staples his thoughts to the manager’s forehead. His contempt dripping like the water cooler. Uniqueness is encouraged Just keep it to yourself. His cubicle is filled with antique…