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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Writings that I’ve grown to love, even if they suck
Two circling beasts armed to the teeth Praying not to hurt the other. Misquoting Nietzsche love is madness Engarde! A lunge for the jugular. Dodged! And missed and spun and nicked And bleeding Only a flesh wound Let it, please god, be only the type that leaves no scar Like...
Abnormal. Flawed. Marked. An O with a peg-leg stepping awkwardly through words often needing U to do the talking. Neither the front nor the back, not even the middle. Caught between two sentinels. Blame his cursed childhood in front of the nymph of P. Getting the cold shoulder from the...
After eating the apple Eve invented the knife She held it against Adam’s throat, close to the jugular, point drawing blood. She forced him to eat of the fruit. So he would know. So he could understand her. The cursed fruit got stuck in Adam’s throat Try as he might...
Most patrons of the westbound Metro are trapped, imprisoned, in their own bubble of music. The angel and demon on their shoulders have grown bored, replaced by two slugs whispering in their ears with plastic slime. If I could listen to those shrill voices singing inloud, stick my head in...
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...
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...
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...
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...