ON A FREAKTASTIC HOT STREAK!

Two dozen rejections in a row?  Possibly.  I've actually lost count.  So it goes.  Here's an older piece in the meantime, from Poor Mojo:




forest

an empty house on the
morning of the abortion

an empty hand in the
age of money

this is what becomes the past

these are the words that can
only ever be

pale memories of the actions
 
the weight of too many moments
spent waiting for the
moment to end
 
of too many rooms filled
with cold silence and ashes
 
your girlfriend's sister
getting dressed and telling you
it was a mistake
 
your best friend's wife
on her hands and knees
 
her tongue cut out or
a knife in your throat or the sound
of someone's daughter puking
in the street
 
your tires slashed
by a man you've never met
 
his wife banging on your door
 
at two in the morning
 
says all she wants to do is talk