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Fortunes On Rabbits

Uncle Virgil was setting a live trap at the edge of the garden. I watched him hold down the little lever, slide the tip into a tiny ring, and cover it with pieces of shaved carrot. “Why are you trapping rabbits?” “Rabbits are like fortune cookies, if you shave their fur, you’ll find a message

Mind if I rattle your cage?

spun around thrice, reeling the time clock changed overnight curvy road, thunderstorm, accelerator stuck at 130 feeling the full force of niagra falls pushing against a pinhole coming to terms with going beyond where you can see it for what it is.

Nothing Personal

I am in a hotel room, new but already dated, beige shag and heavy Medterranean woodwork. There are people talking in the adjacent room. I can hear them through the wall but can’t make out what they’re saying. I listen closely and begin to catch occasional words. “Water works.” “The car is waiting.” “Not to

I’m feeling scrappy today. How ‘bout you?

Not sure why, but I’d say I woke up in somewhat of a “mood” this morning. Here is my to-do list: – Take a sledgehammer to a pile of cinder blocks and smash them and crush them and pulverize them until there’s nothing left but dust and then pound the dust until there isn’t a

Syntax III

It was starting again. Zef stood on the gravel shoulder of a rotting two-lane highway. He gazed off into the distance, lightning flashing behind his eyes. The flat horizon shuddered and began to melt as an 18-wheeler blew past, fueled by meth and diesel, headed due east towards better times. In the dust storm of

Static Pressure

Exhaling soft-spun strands of wanting searching creating shivering in anticipation of that which has yet to be expressed the sky dips down in appreciation of the effort, all the better to be approached electric ecstasy saturates the silver spaces in between power in the seat of innocence discovering itself even the shadows gleam moonlight good

Just Another Saturday Night

“What the Hell, Jerry??” Delores threw the wadded up t-shirt at the lumpen shape slouched on the sofa. “You just shot me in the face!” The sleeping figure stirred; startled, disoriented. Jerry blinked, staring at his wife, a feeling of creeping dread sliding up the back of his throat. Jesus, not this again. “Did you

The Compound Eye Of The Infinite Mind

Lay me down on a mossy hilltop Dark sky my blue dress floating across the pale star soaked, defiant Watching the moon wax and wane over your shoulder for eternity wondering where you are what you are doing whom you are loving when you are coming All the while holding you close holding my breath

Libra Stands Defiant Beneath The Withering Gaze Of Sagitarrius

Strange energies kept me awake, prodding me back each time I dipped my toe in the beyond. No coherent thoughts were being allowed to form. Only floating suggestions of vague empty rooms and the blurred outlines of unborn ideas seen through closed eyes beneath a red satin sleep mask. I wanted but did not know

Syntax II

Shy extended her open palm. “Time to pay up…” The kid, 20-something with the kind of sharp-chiseled face that would keep him in jobs he was unqualified for and relationships he didn’t deserve until the alcohol and self-indulgence took its toll, grudgingly flicked out a $20, creased lengthwise, held straight between the outstretched tips of

Up all night with mixed metaphors and misplaced memories

Seething ball of want and wet gunpowder, struggling to explode Eyes full of smoke and anger If you convince yourself you believe something, does that make it true? It does if you tell yourself it does. At least until you decide to believe something different. Staring at the ceiling through liquified lead Drowning in frustration

Inconsequential

I am holding a carpenter’s measuring tape, trying to measure a snake coming out of a hole at the base of a large clump of willows. It winds its way around the trunk, a slick black coil glittering like motor oil behind a chartreuse veil of swaying branches. The measuring tape is stiff and sharp-edged,

You Look In The Mirror

You wake one morning and look in the mirror. In it, you see another face staring back at you, a reflection of yourself so vast and radiant that it is unrecognizable. A sight of such profound magnitude that it paralyzes you to the core. You have seen the one thing that is real in an

Perhaps This Has Happened To You…

Without hesitation I rode the lion of my passion at full speed directly into brick walls and cement barriers and the sheer rock faces of mountains Rode straight through them into the stars, roaring out beyond the pale reveling in the energy of my newborn courage And in so doing I discovered that I was

Six Dozen Lipstick Roses

Crawling vertiginous up the side of the mountain Following the trail of breadcrumbs Working the night to raise the deadened Blistering avalanche out of the cave of nowhere Flies sliding skyward eating gravity Black blooded anvils pound righteous fists against the tyranny of time Water wets itself Air inhales itself Fire immolates itself Drinking the

A Reflection Of One’s Own Making

In the dark before dawning I awoke after making the trip down from the high point beyond the Northernmost lights in the sky above the sky behind the sky. Sweeping my trajectory Westward I soared incandescently across broken glass cities and fields billowing with lipsticked petals and glittering redrock roads, biding my time reading pages

A Call To Arms For Weary Travelers

Calling all catapult dreamers Calling all moonrise wanderers Calling all hopscotch thinkers Calling all watershed wonderers Calling all sublimated poets Calling all emptied vessels Calling all impaled diviners Calling all unsung imaginers Calling all discouraged investigators Calling all stifled adventurers Calling all unheard agitators Calling all clandestine warriors Excavate the subterranean talents Escape from bottomless

Syntax

“Wash some more of those sweet Winter words over me, baby. It’s hotter than a coke oven in here.” Shy sat in the bathtub, wearing cutoff shorts and a child’s white tank top. The tap had been dry for days. Water had to be hauled in the flat red heat in the round red Coleman

Night Music

1970 Buick Skylark, Titian red with a black vinyl roof. The cigarette lighter pops. I am on a long haul, night driving, heading out of town. I inhale as the lava hot spiral touches tip, thin paper igniting delicious; blackened edges traveling backwards in time, returning to ash. The windows are open and inviting. Warm

Now Is The Same Place As Forever.

Fierce and unrelenting in its blistering ecstasy, the smiling light beams down, bleaching dim beliefs into papery patches that disintegrate into ragged holes bordered by cauterized threads. Ice white diamond intensity blinding the certainty of knowing, breaking apart the conventional conceits, leaving them stumbling and wailing, groping for anything to prevent their disappearing. The light,

Out Of Context

The table, which at first had seemed round, is now long and rectangular. A conference table. I am alone, waiting. I have a folder filled with ideas to present. A man enters, I shake his hand. We sit, the room bathed in uncomfortable silence. He is waiting for me to speak. I reach for my

The Other Day Spoke To Me

Head full of why I want, completely awake the entire dream. Too many things have happened in pieces to keep it from overwhelming me. Over the years, this and that. A toaster. An ashtray. The miniscule ego in a file on the shelf in the office when I had needed to fill it and didn’t

Remembering

the smell of the first 27 raindrops that land on the thin layer of dust on the hood of a red 1972 Eldorado with a white vinyl roof after a hot summer day parked on the side of the road by a thin stretch of beach where you got out just to look at the

The Tale Of Fe

Fe was floating. Surrounded by an impenetrable blankness so dense it seemed to obscure even the possibility of light and form. Fe had been alone for a very long while. So long that it could not be measured in time. Was she floating in space, or was she space itself? Was she tiny and finite,

This Is Not A Painting.

It is a door. Yesterday it was a window. Tonight a dream gliding effortlessly through concrete. There is no doorknob, no lock, no key. It is open. Someone who looks just like you is waiting on the other side.

Notes From The Place Of Forgetting

You are standing in a hotel room. You have been here before, you feel it. But there is no memory, only the vaguest impression, the shadow of a shadow. You look around, searching for clues as to why you are here. Something, anything that tells you how you ended up in this place. The room

The Last Dream Before Waking

Against infinite black sky, giant discs grind dust into reality, rotating backwards through eternity. They are massive, ominous; set up sequentially in a continuous line spanning the entire distance of the universe, streaking red and cobalt blue and ice white shards of light, shrieking cold friction shattering the darkness. Flowing into the machine is the