Archive | January, 2018

My story, “Lobster Boy,” was published today

31 Jan

My story, “Lobster Boy,” was published today in the anthology entitled STRANGE BEHAVIORS. It’s best not read by those prone to recurring nightmares. I, for example, plan on never reading it again. Green means go. Yellow means go faster. Red means go faster than a demon’s dream.


30 Jan

The Three Seasons (tra la la la lah)

30 Jan

“It’s Frank!”

28 Jan


27 Jan

“Drowned Scavengers”

26 Jan

“Drowned Scavengers”

Lick a lot of fences we paint

in the underwater shipyard,

scraps of silk and cashmere

where the flammable blindfold

meets the underwater sun

you worked until the clock dropped back

behind your bed and sleepy-headed

treats at the end of spears

to tempt the fish

whose life you gave me

the blindfolds sweaty

werewolf hands

the chokehold backlit by Ferris wheels.


25 Jan


Erasers in our backyard

our silhouettes to sleep

she lays her evil eggs

behind ferns, under bushes

his tooth is loose again

and all cooks vacated the henhouse

this isn’t your place anymore

the breezes linger amidst the trees

wishing to speak before passing on

the knots in oak street

and your heart glows to cinnamon

streetlights fall into purses

private rituals, intimate places

across green sands

a shadow and you on your apple tree

overlooking the hill with the horses

you rode bareback to call boyfriends

scary and merry and all tell-tale signs

the scars driven into diaries

the night they never let go

cloudy leaves

fallen through owl spirits.


24 Jan



hard-worn, fought-run,

beneath your reputation

lies the innocent specter

an elegy for a raccoon,

an open wound

wraps the pictures,

tears them to floating tears

lingering on a moment

frozen for all echoes to grasp

dented by miles

of dimples in your backyard

the freckles and strawberries

while ladies glow luscious

down bittersweet paths

under awnings of sour fruit

the creepers relax the vines

the ivy I knew cold fish lips

awakened the ripples

the carriages of spider women ,

the sparrow of zeroes,

at cream cheese

and cucumber sandwich parties,

my white gloves covered in my blood

my lacy petticoats sink through my skin

my doors, through the drool, let the cats loop scalding hot

over a crib game of desperation

the scabbed breathe of a wish fulfilled.


23 Jan


We led happy lives

when you were young,

you didn’t notice.

Don’t move away, I pleaded.

But then you did. Far away.

All along, I wasn’t real.

Neither were you.

So why’d you have to drag down

this made-up land?

Were the cabbages shining that brightly

in the moonlight?

Stay strong, the light is dancing

and the horses are a storm

while rivers run in packs

the planets glow dismally.

“Blinded by No Emotions”

22 Jan

“Blinded by No Emotions”

You can have the best of me.

I don’t want him anymore.

Drive in a car made of ice shavings

over the cliff to a wolverine.

We played the magical book

at firestorm concerts

kissed scorpions

and Betty’s nipples lit up.

Blowtorches were our safe haven:

the life you lead as a rat,

bats screaming too loudly to exist

above the cliff that laughed back,

we glimpse a blanket of starfish

combed to their hearts’ content

ravished by the completeness

of all opened presents’

lace drawn hastily away

from pregnant shadows’

rope with the beckoning of claws

unforgiven by the rake you broke

when sweeping leaves too eagerly

and spotted the hidden witch

in the dusty shed

her meat collection

unfolding with a hissing.