Three Poems

By - Jul 5, 2018

Everyone shivering in their
Leather jackets
Eating sandwiches named after
Serial killers

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excerpt from “Bad-Asses”

By - Jul 2, 2018

I ran to the kitchen and took the butcher knife out of the drawer. I put it behind my back and ran back to the porch. The crowd had grown, and everybody was chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

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Magic Soft

By - Jun 28, 2018

      “What about your husband?” I asked.
      “I’m not married,” she said.
      “I thought you said you have a husband.”
      “He doesn’t care,” she said.

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Blind Baby Pasta

By - Jun 27, 2018

Pasta Man watches me drink some water and then crumples up his face at me, pulling his face back into his shaking head, saying “No, no, no, you gotta chew the chardonnay like a dog, baby.” I say “Shit Pasta you’re right,” then I take another gulp and make sure to chew my water.

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Four of Žižek’s Jokes

By - Jun 20, 2018

Today, the old joke about a rich man telling his servant «Throw out this destitute beggar – I’m so sensitive that I can’t stand seeing people suffer!» is more appropriate than ever.

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Two Stories

By - Jun 18, 2018

S had lost all in gambling, joined the anonymous group, then gambled penny stocks with self-created algorithm.


Then lost.

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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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