Never Trump.
The Mercy of Traffic by Wendy Taylor Carlisle:
Now available for pre-order!
Let's get ready for the #AWP19 Conference!
My intention is to be open, willing, and ready to any opportunity that might reveal itself as fruitful - to be in the right place at the right time, and, with the help of the universe, have all the pieces within my frame align with balance, order, and meaning.
I set candles for points and poured out a pentagram. There was usually a sacrifice. I had some leftover Popeye’s chicken, so I set the box in the center. In movies, the teenagers who inadvertently summon demons are usually drunk. I hadn’t taken my meds yet. That was the best I could do.
Thomas glared at his wife as she wiped the ketchup from TR’s face. She had been something to look at when Thomas was finishing his MBA, but she had let herself become frumpy and soft since the kids were born. She wore jeans and an oversized sweatshirt while Thomas’ appearance remained immaculate.
We didn’t know
about the stifling
box cars, the bullhooks.
We just kept
waving our light-up
plastic toys
A vacant lot was packed with trucks. A sign nearby said: Slow down: Excessive speed could lead to the use of excessive force.
of borrowed streets of silent
daughters voyaging toward
homes filled with dust and
detritus and grime lacking
wind eyes to air their there.
Snap your fingers and the dancing girls appear, it’s that simple.
Oh, they are dancing women. Now they are men.
Do you see what I mean. I have taken you over. You have become
a control freak. A control pervert. A wrong shoe on the right foot.
Stop and take your temperature; tie a rope around the
daunting cloud that insists of hovering above you before
sleep sets in and hunger knows no marrow.
Despondent about the Earth’s ecological state, Arthur Quisling, a fifty-two-year-old scientist with an Einstein-like appearance and a green spacesuit, entered his six-by-eight, pyramid-shaped Dimensional Flier. His solar-powered yellow ship, which was capable of elongating and navigating through celestial holes, was preparing for its launch.
you might be a break in the monotony
a saxophonist encouraging call and response
then you quit smoking for good
while I notice
in the middle of the night
a pair of scissors at my throat
Internet. Information. Rain pouring into
the glass cunt of my mind
Momma always said I told you so
before beating the glass
