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…

no witness to mark one moment from the next, none to quiver and shout as things begin to emerge out of nothing; stars, quarks, tiny strings, brushstrokes from an almighty artisan. gas and dust spiral and merge and war and result in bold rocks in the heavens, those we can see, those we can only…

shiver in the morning and burn in the evening, autumnal love affairs rush the blood on cold nights and all in vain, for what, some synaptic light show wherein all thoughts are visible. walk the careful lawns, manicured like french tips and there are street lamps ablaze in the weird sidewalked town that is this,…

nothing can touch me here, i lick vodka from a wet glass and burn medicine that toils in my throat, in my lungs, in my blood and in my head. her hollow bones sing a birdsong far off and light, a dream, a lie, a distraction against the slow comedown from this very brief apex.…

headlights swing past like meteors and we are coming out with the night, a steady stream from cars and porches, swinging in on dark ropes, thieves, idiots, artists and stranglers alike all in the reckoning of midnight. pretty girls slide past dangerously leaving behind perfume clouds and the light impression of their movement, their eyes…

there is a gentle satisfaction in never hearing a song completed. to linger in the slow echo of its ever changing body rolling onward through the years. the same parts played again and again, evolution in sound and again, a drifting of words melancholy and aimless. it moves like water, like light, in constant transfer…