Like a 10-year-old with illegal fireworks, I got the Dr Freud app. Now, I’m lying on my living room couch, while the dogs hang around, wagging. Of course, the past isn’t what it used to be. I’m hungry all the time, and I have no idea why all the antimatter disappeared. Maybe I should be … Continue reading Late
I wonder what it would feel like to jump Out of this moving vehicle. To just keep rolling As the train disappears, just the smell of it left behind Like gin mixed with sulfuric acid. And I, Still spinning furiously, a tumbling gymnast Balled up into the forest. Muddied limbs — batons Punching the earth … Continue reading Rolling Out From Moving Vehicles
empty beer bottles and empty banana skins. an open, half-empty and half-stale sliced pan. used plates and take- away boxes. nothing with lipstick stains. books on the table. a coffee pot, inside turned yellowing brown like the pits of a ten- year-old t-shirt. — DS MAOLALAI DS Maolalai has been nominated nine times for Best of … Continue reading The Kitchen While You’re Gone
She cracked the air with her words, split the trees from their bough, tore stars from their night. Love fell from a thrown disc of sun to fill the back of his eyes. The courtyard framed the wetted stone for its own pleasure, and when pleasure met fate, all was dreamt and loamy about. And … Continue reading Art
Inside my dream, a dream. A cat sunning itself in the bay window. A small party. Silk, satin, some other materials. There are strangers who have loved me. There are lovers who have left me. I have written tirelessly about both. Fast traffic. Wet snow. The sound of acrylic nails tapping on a wooden bar-top … Continue reading Listen, I Need To Tell You Something
Trash Day is always an accomplishment: I lug those full, stinking cans to the curb like I’m walking down the red carpet in an underfunded coronation for conquering another week, having spent the last seven days alternating between washing dishes and disarming intercontinental ballistic missiles buried beneath my home state: It was Monday I was … Continue reading The Disarmament
Flipping between Leno and Letterman, ironing his shirts in his boxers by the glow of far-away soundstages, periodically walking a few feet from the board to the bed to close my eyes with his hand and tell me there’s a hundred bricks all over my body – Your arms are feeling verrrry heavy and suddenly … Continue reading My Father’s Late Nights