December 2010
7 posts
1 tag
to 1116
Which weighs heavier, sludging into concrete: compulsion to tightfist now,or how wrong she has twisted, covered in bruises? Does your fire escape PTSD rattle, violated by my plasticware and nicotine hands? Would it stand up in court, the timeless defense, artistic license? Can you, oh my house afford a lawyer? Or do you commiserate with the redwoods and Louisiana shrimp, smug in new ugly...
“In this entre-nous spirit, then, old confidant, before we join the others, the...”
– J.D. Salninger
Kimya. The Beer
The beer I had for breakfast was a bottle of Mad Dog and my 20/20 vision was fifty percent off. He said “Punch-buggy red” and punched me right in my left eye. I said “Don’t you mean pediddle?” and I lit his house on fire. He came home on acid, I was holding his shotgun, I was dressed like Tina Turner in Beyond Thunder Dome. He said “Don’t...
