The rain hit hard today
not in a sexy way
but like my boyfriend was
mad at me. I felt the tension
when I pressed my erection
against him, so I stole his car.
They lifted their skirts with precise fingers and really went to it, circling each other, laughing and snorting, the tall one and the short one. Their dance became wilder as they flung their arms this way and that.
Sneaks under shadows lurking
in corners ready to rear its head
folded in neat lab reports charting
white blood cells over edge running wild.
This drives the pair of us ever into quarrelsome, awkward conflict; the incompatible impasse of our binary, opposite goals, frictions generating perpetually make for quotidian frustrations again and again.
“See if you understand this: my name is Calvin, everyone calls me Fish, but my father wrote his suicide note to Cyrano. Do you understand? Do you understand what I’m saying, that I am not, and never have been, a good son?”
Ethan remembered this girl in his sixth grade class - Sarah, or Sam or something. It didn’t matter now. He had asked her to the spring dance, and she turned him down. Ethan swore revenge.
There was a time when I could paint without panicking. There were days in which birds flocked to the bird bath, splashing riotously together, a flurry of red and dull feathers. As they waited their turn, some of the birds read Bibles in the shade of the angel fire tree.
Hidden horrors decades
old no longer
matter. Only now.
The Sphere of the Present.
All of us tangled
together. A Rat King.
...we had already parsed the difference between mortal sin and venal sin, in preparation for our first confession, but this particular Sin, she tried to tell us, was something we all were born with, not anything we actually did.
In the Kingdom of Dragons, only half the families drive hybrids. Despite our outreach efforts, it’s been hard to overcome dragons’ attachment to their coal-fired SUVs. For some reason, that’s the only mode of transportation they trust to bring the sheep and cattle home for dinner.
there is madness in the iodine
buttercup mystery
an enigma of grayish-white
entrails or slice brains
without the blood
