Knife Boy David

By - Jun 11, 2018

There are usually two people trapped inside one sad body: someone who wants to die and someone who wants to live. There are stress lines on a stranger’s face that go years and years down all the way to the bone.

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By - Jun 8, 2018

Gnawed at my foot like it was stuck in the trap of being a foot. Delighted, at times, in the chewy gloom of the thing.

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By - Jun 4, 2018

The moon sunk low enough to wear it as a feedbag. His craters amassed with period, the dead egg sacrament, territories slurped free of kin, hushing about how we are all one on his big receipt.

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Four Stories

By - May 30, 2018

These good woods, protective woods, murderous woods…

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Different Instruments

By - May 28, 2018

One looked like a brush, she saw it in the trash after while pulling her legs through her pants – thistles in a round shape like for a pipe or for dishes in a machine but full of blood, her blood and what was scraped at there in the trash. Another felt smooth, like the knife a professional would use to square off a cake’s icing.

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Four Poems

By - May 23, 2018

three bumper stickers on one car in reno, nv


confederate flag

‘i love my dachshund’

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The Champ is Here

By - May 21, 2018

He felt like he learned something when he saw the real life classic woodpecker. It was something out of nature programming. Pulling into his driveway and seeing the woodpecker through the windshield.

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By - May 18, 2018

The smallest tremors of the sun on the air, the air pressing on the ground, the air pressing on itself – humidity from ash dry to falling ocean, heat searching and rising, swelling bodies and air. All days in one.

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Maintenance Art

By - May 16, 2018

Driving she saw men and women and men and men and women and women and iterations of each in numerous hues unloading kids, pets, suitcases, purses, tents, paperwork, lunches, coats, all of these from cars parked in driveways like her own outside of schools like ones nearby, everything this slew of searching meat and plastic, cotton and rubber staving off a godly heave.

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Beauty Room

By - May 14, 2018

Even the things that had been bad were good now, like, say, my fat arms, which had lost their mottle. It wasn’t like I was above myself looking down, but like every nerve in me could see.

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Cult Marm

By - May 4, 2018

a billion
blanched white
in the shade
of a trillion

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excerpt of Trip

By - Apr 30, 2018

If death by comet was unexpected, and departing Earth nonphysically like I did on psilocybin was, after decades in the same metaphysical place, beyond unexpected, my experience of smoked DMT was beyond beyond unexpected. It was around two ontological corners. It was closing closed eyes twice, or waking, incredibly, thrice.

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