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.

“Maybe This Day Will End”

18 Apr

“Maybe This Day Will End”

Maybe someday

this day will end

maybe tomorrow

if this spacecraft lands

our lives will end

so we circle above the dunes forever

replications of our former lives

ready to click our belts in place

the company wants androids

icy and frozen waterfall chips

our art is a design cast by a puma

wings astride insect clouds

the howls of engines

amend this midnight

your duplicate portal shell

shed a snake skin

the sand planet rises,

transferring our enemies

to a revolution living timeline

to kill a fresh-hatched king

his vulture lips astride

an Arabian horse

a roadblock of sheep feet

the waterfall is clear

the water cellar filled

with belly dancer mirages

the golden eggs are clucked

and holds over our plural selves

for the tanks release their trifold

blend of green smoke,

white smoke, pink smoke,

and we are shaken to our owl howls, tough leather spiders in your belt,

the rodent wasteland spreads

coffee bark to clean our interiors:

I saw the beast of three dreams.

“Poem Star”

15 Apr

“Poem Star”

Call me back never,

never for all that grows in football cleats

and rotten cheerleader uniforms

for waterfalls burning

for corks without aim

for the burnt mask

and they haven’t made me since 26426

on a distant star planet

dripping from their foreheads

an alien race lost in radio waves,

the machines have met us alive

for centuries of blood rhumbas

and vipers in your jeans

we though you’d moved away by now

and fallen off the trees.

“Vultures and Fancy Clothes”

13 Apr

“Vultures and Fancy Clothes”

A lizard reclined on the radiator,

his legs splayed,

his three inches

of space diminishing

digging for a dream

the road heat spied by inns

twins in animal cracker dresses

a rotten traveler in animal skins

waves though a bear beast

mugs of grog slid by a barkeep

wounded by arrows

a terrifying breeze

through dove mint trees

the electrified bear

waltzes to his cave

for an afternoon of cookie tea

then dinner with the mouse skeletons

out of my closet walks a force

harpsichord, strung to his vibrations

a variation on the sand horse

too grand for the ballroom of life

honey to the hairy trees

lifted over hay bails

your heart and photo arrays

dress me up to rabbits and scarecrows

nothing’s right and all candles

blear another moment.

“You Were Different Then”

12 Apr

“You Were Different Then”


the need to communicate in dew

his love grows the ivy

to fall asleep with a sleeping bag

in the middle of a highway

to fall asleep in an avalanche

a tar pit, warm coils

as if all your favorite records

and drawstrings: the pinched face

of a vampire, rogue true blue

to fall in love with tobacco

while waterskiing

and doubles the minty scent

your cold blonde hair in ice crystals

and doubled the minute

the swans drowned

and all their blood bubbles rose

with spring dresses and calling girls

the haze of flip flops, a policewoman

her top down the rim of a roller coaster

why skies with anyone

useless tough leather

the boat drifts off

the devils scatter

and all our insect hearts

hold a party

even the clock chimes’s invited

to deeply swallows keys

and clanging change

only sign language

could revive a faded river corpse

to run from your neighbors

with tears in your eyes

forced mutually

hearts’ immunity.

“Time to Fit into These Rags Anymore”

11 Apr

“Time to Fit into These Rags Anymore”

The dead side of a spaceship

which landed on our lawn some years ago

a lonely wind to make us stay

through grass blades

and sways this sash

a lie and wunderkind to find,

lingerie and wine

and trails the drapes to soda ash

the footsteps disappear

we ask for backstage passes

and secret tissues, the twilight manacled

to roller skate blindfolded

the flaming hog’s body

we were girlfriends again

all in our ghost bodies,

missing patches of hair,

scars interwoven

the deserter’s cane

blew diamonds across the desert

and all falls the secret knowledge

triumphant in the rain

of sad rosaries warped by presents

and so you flew away

never wanting to wake again

the gladiolas, the burnt persimmon, precious as blood carriages

carrying the harvested bodies

from the spacecraft,

this dimension betwixt others

or a thousandfold strained violence

birds carry away throats,

leather gloves turn to silver gloves

and velvet glove believers

sheds in this nightmare town

where every steeple sits ready to slash,

and all neighbors wait

glaring at their microphones,

the cold inner suns reflecting

the glint of gold teeth,

marmalade infested with insects

who want your name in blood

roads the infernal travelled down

tied rosy pillows to the pink of unhealthy pale horses,

and whose tail pinned you too:

that all changed

nobody knows anymore

and all the rest moved away.