i no longer walked when it was easier to crawl

 

bitter laughter at this idea of resurrecting overdoses

 

Poem for the Crows w/ Their Sharpened Teeth by John Sweet - Black Coffee Review

just the awkward grace of drowning orphans

 Current Zine – Black Stone / White Stone

were we already drowning when we got here?

Announcing: Issue 9 of Lit Shark Magazine Is Now Live! - Lit Shark

 

i'm on your side; everyone dies

 

 

a tracing by John Sweet; poem 

[our voices no longer shake or crack]

 

 

the long and the short

 

this dead man is the punchline, history is the joke

 

the architecture of history

 

[you're not safe, you never will be until the day you're dead]

 

notes on finding the one true religion

 

when you finally dream the last day of your life

 

hieronymus bosch in the age of rust

 

We were silent while the boat sank

 

middle of the afternoon and an absence of god

 

the rivers of rusted metal and the murdered children who sleep there

 

carry me home

manson was a rock star

 

after all of us are dead, none of this will matter

 

we'll need to figure out where to score

 

the brittle heart

 

this well-fed asshole going through your pockets while you bleed to death

 

so much air to breathe, but all you can do is smother

 

[certain places we are not meant to return to]

 

a mouthful of blood is a mouthful of blood is a mouthful of blood

 

can't be a whore if you aren't willing to get fucked

 

drinking the blood of those who would fight to keep you down

 

windows we could jump from

 

the absolute

 

BECAUSE EVERY MOMENT IS THE PERFECT MOMENT TO FUCK UP THE OPPRESSORS

 

belief is the weapon of the desperate

and the grass all dead and the

weeds spilling across the driveway

no sons of ghosts no

need for lies

sunlight on faded flags until

the idea of america becomes

                               confused

i have my own theories about

who needs to be killed

i have a headache

three in the afternoon

end of july

and the air too thick to breathe

don’t make a sound

don’t waste your time on prayer

call this place

you’ve arrived at the ocean

or call it the desert

and then consider the need for rain

park in front of the apartment of

a girl you used to know

and then wait

five years becomes ten

ten becomes twenty

don’t let your children

catch you growing old

don’t be afraid to consider

suicide from time to time

in the end you can only

reject your despair or

embrace it

ALL POWER IS ILLUSORY, ALL TYRANTS WILL DIE

 

NEW WORK

always move slowly towards the nearest open door

 

Point Clear Press

New work.

Right now.