the red army bleeds from out my skull, charred and smoking in the midnight black, each little red devil carrying some terrible thought out into the ink. tearing open the night they claw and chew through and through the raw matter of this, each little red bastard laughing at me, dragging my delirium out into…

tiny shadows of nuclei falling like dust, swirling in the light and i can feel my pulse against the pillow, this indicator of existence even while i am uncertain of just how real this is. she sleeps quietly in her sunday dress, this nimble girl i have broken like a doll in my childish hands.…

move like gnats in orbit, a heart of little winged things in the dim light of now, aimless, at odds with the trajectory we have calculated for to follow. the rats and the liars move in together, a common agony, tracing a skittering mecca along baseboards and behind walls, in the dark places where we…

medicated the wrong way, agony in milligrams and now come monsters over the low hills, lurching and calling, lurching and calling. push everyone away, speak only when spoken to, find some quiet solitude under which to hide like a wounded animal in the slow end to everything. pressure to the point, a fast approaching deadline…

i appreciate now more than ever the one who came before and taught me to drink wine. not just to drink it, but how to drink it, how to enjoy it. so now, when strangers in good dress with no humor come at me with a bottle and say, “will this do?” i can say…

the eyes of god are upon you and you can do nothing but drive faster, harder into the heart of it like some mythical beast who is only conquered by blood, bone and gasoline. the world flattens out and the road straightens for miles of empty space and at night the snow erupts like phosphor…

i go to the diner because i enjoy listening to the hardened women speak. they rattle off complaints like bullets with no regard for who is near. long hours, low pay, shitty men, whores for coworkers and assholes for customers. if you sit at the counter you will be hit with expletives; it is a…

i let a fire burn just to watch tendrils rise, the gray reach like arms up and out to some ultimate terminus. i let a fire burn just to feel the heat again, the writhing warmth that moves up the spine slowly. i let a fire burn because i need it to, to satisfy this…

the click clack of her heels echoes sharply in the narrow avenues of my brain, the boulevards wherein she was mine and i was able to know her. the click clack of her heels comes back at me through stone resonance howling off the architecture of everything. there is rhythm here, if it can be…

how hot is your little sun, how bright can it get? when they follow my eyes i look upon myself as a king, a great warrior of hearts and when they turn away i see only shame and mutant fatigue, a false prophet, a coward. i sit in a tiny room claustrophobic against my possessions…