Let’s not do it. Let’s not go down the dusty road to death. We’ve built so many roads. Are none of them upward tending, over whatever obstructions we may find in our way? Or are we destined now to drive or ride in circles, forever longing for where we started, but lost destinationless and bored…
The pickle is a lowly fruit, or is it just a veggy? Some say they’re really very good, but dills just leave me edgy. Gurkins have a sweetness which cannot be denied, but when I find them on my plate, I invariably hide them underneath a lettuce leaf or accommodating chip. Or better yet find…
How did it feel? One followed by all those zeroes, A couple commas. Those must have been the interruption between triplicate noughts. The sleepless, nervous, anxious, unspoken apprehension of what it means to strive for what only can be counted, never kissed or held in warm embrace, never smiled upon or smiling back, the world…
This is the way it happened. This is exactly the way it happened. I sat in a public place and the little girl wanted to operate the machine that squeezes pennies and makes them look like flat pieces of copper that used to be money. Her parents gave her fifty cents to operate the machine…
It always meant pain. Either you hung me on it and I suffered to your glee or I pick it up from the other end and you run in fear. Let’s talk about it as it really is, but you sit there as if it will go away and leave you untouched. Remember, its your…
Now that they have proven themselves idolaters, filled with graven images and willing to deny the truth and turn a blind eye to mercy and grace, now that they have denied righteousness and driven themselves mad with lust for power and prestige, preening themselves in elaborate costumes of grotesque exaggeration, I want to tell you…
They are here as they have always breathed flame, leathern wings beating, tail potent, able to impale, scales armor hard over a heart of hate, but now they are electric. They are here, as they have always terrified ignorant slaves to superstition and convention, servants to shadow, but now they lure with vanity and lethargy…
There she sits, the wayward recessive one, burning the combustibles at both ends, her flaming red hair atop the cigarette she smokes on break, blowing away the risk of emphysema or worse, taking all the chances she can take in ten minutes before or after lunch. What the hell? Who’s going to stop her? More…
If I could not sleep because I worry all I have not done remains undone and all I might is mightier than I, then getting out of bed becomes a challenge and I admittedly half heartedly try, one foot before the other inevitably leads outside to fetch the paper, other people’s pulp and fortune delivered…
