New story (“The Basement People”) published!

28 Sep

Psyched to be part of this anthology. My tribute to Legs McNeil & Gillian McCain’s PLEASE KILL ME, Bauhaus’s BURNING FROM THE INSIDE, and…well, you get the idea…is about a sentient cloud of animal limbs! It’s called “The Basement People.” It is available here (at Clash Books) or here (at Amazon).

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“Who Among the Best of Us”

27 Sep

“Who Among the Best of Us”

Who among your classmates

will last past this second breathe

board a chivalrous route

give to burns the right amount of panache

the salve of the blank window stare

in dressings

who among you wrests this laurel

past the breakers

the foggy ghost arms

pulled in a ship by her teeth

who among the least of us

tired of dartboards, seal cries

the horn that separates rain from trees

and every tear a cuff link

who among the crows

pack quills for the winter

and beaks of lost sisters

who among the bird bones

breathes so precious a whispered star

who among the mazes for us

who will in feather

panic the air.

“Curl Around this Mountain”

21 Sep

“Curl Around this Mountain”

You won the swamp sweepstakes

and your rattle-born tail

twists ‘round this mountain

the road to a rodeo

points to a checkerboard past

let’s circle us for hours

wherever we wandered to be poets

I promise (I do)

to spot us

a farther lake

we’d never reach

to kiss you complete

awash in a dark wooded bar

awake in a dark wooded hour

as if stun guns from childhood

as if monstrous teeth

and the cold morsels of minnows

of sickening heres, dispiriting dominos

ravens to clutch your pendants

and every rose an eyebrow brush

the hairy stairs

leading to nowhere of my desperate hour

sit down and sip through the pantry

and backwards jump

the ever-fading castle

the romance breaths

on the moon tops to mope

sandalwood and smoke

the rotten cherry to rise

crystal calls of dinosaur men.

“Wait for the World”

25 Aug

“Wait for the World”

You got weighted against the world

and you won

your lips

denied a lungful of leaf

and your skeletal stomach

fulfilled of rose petals

made an evening tree truce

with cornered chalkboards

of your every thought

through the pain of windows

a scratch for the pricker bush

who’s laughing at shadows

in the merry-go-round woods

of wooded puppets

sharing brigadier of bridegroom

with turmeric and salt

of bread-won cut wounds

and shredded gloves,

hairpins of an eerie robber father

whose silhouette a fountain casts,

shreds rocks from crystals

and an apparition burned

in twilight marks

for every woolen doll

our sheets made

of strawberry skins

and petticoats, the lavender nightshade

coats goblins between us

where the toboggan belongs

to the toad king,

carved in the wardrobe:

for sacred wood outlives

the passing flesh.

“Your Wedding Day”

11 Jun

“Your Wedding Day”

My best friend’s a jockey

my other friend’s in a noose

let’s dance away the sunset

your wedding.

The desert starts to waver

my skull and a cross

in a necklace I gather

forever to be lost

your wedding.

Miss ill for your troubles

to gather this mass

the white tulip opens

your wedding day.

They’ll be here in an hour

your body’s in flames

your heart’s cut to pieces

your wedding.

Your hair is lighting

a candelabra

tomorrow is done

for your wedding.

Off-course by his branches

through trees and his weeds

the candlelit gazebo

your wedding day.

Punished of course

and dread fills each second

to lumber encroaching

I can’t come

your wedding.

Arrived early

this bell and glass hands

your love fills this horse

to dig up the souls and lost hands

your wedding.

Princesses and princes

to punish this land

rub one on gravestones

across this clearing of years

veils ashamed

of your wedding day.

Beneath a poplar the popular pastimes

and all is borrowed

four leaves for wine

birthmarks and freckles

beneath lonely and fallen

your wedding.

Interview with me at Silent Motorist Media

5 Jun

I had a lot of fun talking with Justin Burnett about literature, comics, pulp, David Foster Wallace, Psychedelic Horror Press, social media personality schisms, Elizabeth von Dracula, Elizabeth von Dracula’s dentures, and Elizabeth von Dracula’s turnips stitched to human heads in her moonlit garden. Seriously though, check out this thoughtful and imaginative gent’s beautifully designed blog filled with thoughtful and unique posts.

Check it out here.

The Network People by Bob Freville

26 May

The project of illustrating this book haunted my life for the last year, yet when I emerged from its netherworld, the pictures were like a bouquet of blooming horreurs and the stories themselves were nightmarish visions, coiled around the arms of worms and snakes. Apparently, it has been unleashed into this world today.

“This Reflection Casts a Shadow”

25 May

“This Reflection Casts a Shadow”

You never told me

about the raccoons living here

or your marital highways

as the raccoon in the suit

is upstairs waiting for me

to light this gas and fade away

brilliant sunshine from all radiators

never a flame forever

we play our part, our favorite roles

I’m moving away

I’m not that sort of person anymore

who can move with a place

this diet of lasting years

leaves me tethered to a tiger’s tongue

wandering through the fields

the zeal of tundras

and ravens at my back

I’d clear my name

in the flexing eyes of crossbows

hawks wear leather bags

because this crossroad

and dye our darlings

and all the memories cold reptile toes

and blue show me a guide to mend garden crawling up our beds

the rain is a pelt, happy to be worn

and your wild eyes through the years

this is the poison part

with all they glided over lilies.

“We Were Out of Time”

11 May

“We Were Out of Time”

And places

and wolves to do that

and tricks the canary played

in closed hands

and rain beams

and frosted roofs

and scarlet dream

your cowboy clothes

and the robot lending missing pieces

to the memories of June

in fountains of electricity

pour you, through seasons

caught behind a door with your first love

a whiff of perfume and stirred to the

kissing, skirts adrift for flames

peach of peaks and the pesce

of heavy petting

one last sword to graze

the fizz of drinks cast overboard

the crackling of parting

and parties below deck

slips through silver hills

just as blinding, locket hawks

and silver men in sleet

a night on towns when unobserved

the beast reserves

of shameful things

and toyed the knocking

and what are joys

the buds aflame

river-smart and jeans

and needles coated fast and blue

and terrorize

the peeling night of denim means

the birds were anonymous,

as we once were.

“Your One Last Chance to be Beautiful”

23 Apr

“Your One Last Chance to be Beautiful”

Beautiful racket, freeze us in our dread

and beautiful rockets, close our eyes

and beautiful born to be beautiful rain

the last chance hours have cost us again

and all of our mimicry falls in this purse

and all evolves no matter the curse

our chemical wedding

and the fluttering of frogs

and forgive us those beautiful trees

who give us our bread

furthering events to stand alone

the scalding of the troll’s mother

who wants to bake us for breakfast

spread like rose bruises

across the gulch

closes the horizon

with the blind glove,

the fisheries’ transparent nets

laid bare on a floor of scary faces

dreaming of a naked hill, spread-eagled

to awake in a cornfield

barren and gagged

and all throats multiplying

for each blessed tear of nourishment

fever in the range

the imprints of a body falling

through nets and stars

and changeling: you hatched a demon.