Eight-Track Tape Player

Eight-Track Tape Player

    The sun slants his hapless rays through spiderwebbed glass, and amid the hills of newspaper rumpling up from the tablecloth our tight-lipped mama unpacks a miracle fresh from the S & H Green Stamps Store— a glory of chrome and veneer, five fat...
Meterology

Meterology

  When I arose the petals of the pink tulips were strewn on the table, debris of glossy tongues. Stalks in stale water leaned against the glass vase, weathered trees after a storm. How I withered into bed when they were still in bloom. A Sabbath morning, the...
Bodily Resume

Bodily Resume

The third line on my brow— It arrived last night. The crosshatches around the mouth— They speak for me. My hair surrenders to wind. My fuck-you finger is romancing my thumb. The slouch, the crippled penmanship, My earlobes of Buddha, The smile that reveals a...
The Kingfishers

The Kingfishers

  She prefers the psych ward. Her blue nurse-gloves check restraints, flit like the furtive wingflaps of a kingfisher, her brown skin hidden by light-refracting feathers. By their own nature, fitted sheets remain on the bed, held fast and taut. The patients make...
Late Style

Late Style

Seeking out sugar but settling for deer shit my mother leans against the side of an old Babylonian cigarette machine purple textiled    palanquined over then drops down beside me on the timbered mesa where we huddle over a vista of primitive cities...
Skinned

Skinned

In the chemical light of afternoon, our bodies curl over phones, sprawl slightly toward windows, holding empty forms, as if it’s test day.   Once we were boys and girls.   A faded poster says we’ve shed a thousand skins since then.   Outside in the...
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