English is definitely not dere first language. Da theory goes dat if you give wun infinite number of primates wun infinite number of typewriters eventually da buggahs going produce da works of Shakespeare. Researchers at wun university in England wen put dat notion to da test. In wun project intended more as performance art den…
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Like boxers Who like hugs. Bears in trash cans, finding a cheeseburger. A feast The end of ink in a pen A bricklayer laying 500 bricks a day For 60 cents a brick A woman saving straws wrapped in paper For her grand kids. Kids drowned in bathtubs. A cotton ball in a wet sink.…
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I look for chores to busy my hands, inherited from Marie, my German grandmother. She barely sat down for 76 years. She would clean and cook and wash and cut the grass. Except when Frida would come over. Two German sisters: sitting over coffee, chatting in German, smiling at their grandchildren as I meandered in…
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the phone rang just as i started to masturbate this afternoon the guy trying to get me to switch my long distance didn’t appreciate all the heavy breathing i didn’t exactly care for his high pitch southern drawl either
He’s loving and he cares So much. How does he care One second like that and then Snap he’s out He’s created a love inside Himself that I have no part of I’m a teddy bear, soulless and Crammed full of fluff Snoring away at my shoulder My meaning diminishes Second by Second You were…
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I read somewhere once that, on average, a man thinks about sex every seven seconds. That means, in the sixty seconds it took me to pay her, I thought about it at least eight times. Once was the white blob of mayonnaise on her green polo shirt, just beneath her name tag. Another was the…
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(an experimental poem: drawn from Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-5, and Hemingway’s Hills Like White Elephants) All this happened, more or less. The Lord rained brimstone and fire upon Sodom and Gomorrah. Only stones remained. Like the moon. The line of hills, they were white in the sun. Like white elephants. The country was brown and dry…
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She had the devil in her eyes and smelled like Orchids. She was the perfect combination of crazy and jaded that tugs on the strings of my sickness. To every question she asked I gave the wrong answer. For once I was happy not to taste the flames a woman like her could offer. …
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Coarse fur from heavy tires. Missing head. Flesh pressed into loose asphalt. An oval of blood dried across your stomach. But your one arm reaches up to flag its white paw. Open and empty, it’s signaling me to stop traffic, to barge onto the roadway, to save. You are waiting for me to tent myself…
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what do i write anymore but epic craigslist masterpieces that get flagged for being impossible actionable items only please the holidays came and went mourning for the dead mourning for the living we eat til it hurts even if it already did missed connections misunderstandings the world’s a mess but there’s always the clearance aisle…
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