untitled landscape 1

#16943 in Books > Literature & Fiction > Poetry > Regional & Cultural > United States

HOLY CRAP, IT'S MOVED UP 15,000 POSITIONS!  IT'S A FREAKIN' REVOLUTION!

LINK:

NAZCA 1

POLLOCK'S COMET

ONE FOR THE DYING SUN

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

AVAILABLE FROM ME, A FEW COPIES LEFT

THANK YOU TO MICHAEL CHESTER FOR THE REVIEW:

ALMOST ALWAYS SOMEWHERE

LINK:

A SILVER SUN SMEARED ACROSS THE DULL GREY SKY

READ IT HERE:

OLDER INSANE RAMBLINGS OF A CRAZY PERSON

 LINK:

this dream of days

the plan of course
was to kill
and the indian holding the
american flag above his head
was a perfect target

and we'll call this page one

or what about the idea of
presidents fucking slaves?

what about the klan?

what they all have in common
is an ironclad faith in god

what the witches do is hang

the past
at any given moment
has already become your
future

: :

and wherever you are,

men hired by the government shooting
into crowds and,
wherever you are,
the sound of laughter

the futile effort of being

somewhat human

10 YEARS OLD, BUT STILL PRETTY DAMN ZESTY

CLICK ON PIC TO ORDER

 

AN ASSORTMENT OF OLD AND NEW AT YELLOW MAMA

LINK:

NEW WORK AT MAD SWIRL

LINKOSITY:

a better dog

let the weight of faith be

what finally pulls you under

close your eyes as you

touch bottom then open
your mouth to sing

poem for picasso

it’s nothing to

admit you’re afraid

it’s cold sunlight

in an empty room

NEW WORK AT GAMBLING THE AISLE

LINK:

NEW WORK IN OFF THE COAST

BECAUSE PRINT  JOURNALS STILL RULE:

NEW WORK AT ODDBALL MAGAZINE

linkage:

NEW WORK AT SHOT GLASS JOURNAL

LINK:

New Work @ The Bitchin’ Kitsch

LINK: