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A roaring thunder encases the land. It absconds with an easy settling and rattles beyond and above, the land grinds and creeks and splits. Brown earth breaking into cracks, fire jutting outward. A lava burst, fountains of molten rage coming through the earth. The land splitting and bending, everything(more)
Roll and roll and roll and when will it end.
This dice of a life. Unpredictable patterns and 1-6 scales of soon to be weight scales, of confusion and believers. When the urge grips, and chimes in with reverberating pangs of burning, burning, burning desire. You give in.
When since did Harold believe in quiet things and dismal curtain lifetimes of a mother who only ate celery and a father who was brave and dying.
Years, since he had touched either.
Years, since he had been anything but a hushed whisper, in broken nights. A son, since(more)
Jagged cracked earth underneath your feet. A child sprinted along these cracks, a lifetime spent among these black fissures. An earthquake spanning an entire generation - happy faces, sad embraces, a family forage festival, a first kiss, a dying wish, and cyclical spins the bottle cap.
Grinning teenagers wit(more)
Gifted ghosts, they tread. They wisp through and out of connectivity like seeking beings, tiny footsteps lost in large boots. A yelp. A grand sky above, golden plumes of clouds and, somewhere, there they are.
Gifted entities, searching. I search to touch them. To feel, let them inside of(more)
Don't blink because she'll be gone, believe me, I've done it. I'm drunk and I'm alive. That is something. It is the most incredible nothing. I stay my drunk fingers and, perchance, see myself in another live.
Tell them of what it was like.
This life. (more)
An ever present bystander, the long shadowed feeling which spurts over yonder, close and yonder.
He is you is a she.
You are a miasma, hemale shemale and stand uproarious and uncouth, timid and simpering.
You are you and, oft, you are too damn tired to think of such(more)
We are, beasts, of the continuation of things. Dead and alive and a deadpan heart beat of the two. I slapped my face, hard and jagged, and Tamya rolled off the bed. Her large waste, catatonic delight, ruptured the solidarity of we.
"I've got to go, up early i(more)
A politician jeers and prods and laughs. The room is filled and quiet and he speaks.
A crowded room of promises yet to be made true.
Why criticize fallibility. Do we not, also, make promises and delay and not keep and refute?
It is the nature of the beast(more)
It's midnight, tick beats the metal hands, whining, of my grandfather clock, never owned by my grandfather. An old man with a tawny white beard, suspenders and wool socks. He didn't care much for time, so I remember.
It's midnight. (more)
Tomato rot in the fridge.
Gleam, it does, when you look the other way. Odd, why does it not want to be eaten.
Is it alive?
Of course not. It's a tomato. An organic tomato, with dwarf sized seeds and ridges and canals and pools of liquid, juices o(more)
I sit up. I jimmy a cigarette up to my lips, wet lips, and shoot up my lighter. The flame crackles, softly, and burns tightly into the tobacco.
This is all there is, for now. My life of smoke, up and down and directionless and anticipated. My life,(more)
Like egregious secrets bypassing the waggling flesh and buried ledgers of things bygone. Celebratory dinners, muted, indistinguishable from yawning and solitude. This is our nucleus, ringed down from sockets of promises and leaking onto the floor of expectation. Our family of brokenness and togetherness and ambivalence. Ho(more)
Core Mine Field, the sign reads. A divide of a town with only two sets of peoples. Those grizzled, construction-laced and black soot stricken miners and those others.
The others are folk, regular, who do regular things - they eat and work and play and love and don't lov(more)
I don't think of much these days. Ever since your twilight breathing left my earthly fleshy needing, your silly strokes and your whims. Those jaundiced walks, two skinny lovers in a city full of dazed smiles. Wandering about cracked streets. Sneaking feet meandering to the bottle-nosed seats of our(more)