Tourist

I have seen summer in the winter and hate nested among love; Toppled trees and fat cruise ships seems it should be the opposite – and everyone is just happy they’re not in the sugar cane fields (anymore). I wonder at my assumptions for the world’s ambitions and perhaps when the 3rd world is your … Read moreTourist

while hours away and don’t dream, pink screams on the street blue screams on the toilet. Do you see them in the gutters with their snarling teeth bared, twisted empty guts, wanting life more than you do? cessation. endless death in Victory Mansions wishing abortion was the choice. Get on with it already. needles in … Read more

Where I’ve been

I’ve been off on holiday, and a bit of work in an awkward paradise. There were no strippers; just beautiful people, places, goats, birds, dogs, roaming horses and mules, cats and fish. There was sun and a warmth so comfortable, I dreamed at night. Colorful lizards hung along the walls and porch columns. I watched … Read moreWhere I’ve been

Falling Alseep

Places I’ve passed out: Bathrooms in Bars, Bus Stop Benches, Garbage Dumpsters, Abandoned Houses, High School Bleachers, Playgrounds:      (swing sets, teeter-totters, merry-go-rounds) Back seats of open cars, Train stations, bus stations, Park benches, under bridges, stairwells, Bushes on the side of the road, Wooden Docks, up in a tree, Mountain Caves.

Drinking About You

A toy of forbidden pleasures A boy with excessive treasures A planet of desires, sooner or later we’ve got crossed wires. so, I’m sorry up front for the treasure map Though I don’t know if I’ll keep it held back since gold out lives old and some hand must have it now or later it’s … Read moreDrinking About You

flurries

there are blades of grassthat grow under the snow;how I wish I was them.these flakes of snow fallingfrom the heavens that sent youare bigger than I’ve ever been.Is it love that makes me tiny,where a deep sigh is a hurricaneand heavy footsteps an earthquake?

Simple Suicide

Walking out of the drug store with the water pistol that looked real enough to him, albeit the bright orange end in his hand, he strolled easily down the street. Not sure of what to do next, he walked towards the white house attempting to break off the orange nose of the water pistol. “Won’t work at all,” he half thought half said aloud. Finally breaking it off, he decided after some deliberation that the orange piece was going in the garbage and not on the ground. He would not have is his second to last action on the earth be littering.
Finally he arrived at Lafayette park, right in front of the White House. “What a piece of tainted shit that is,” he yelled. There were snipers on every building he knew, but hadn’t really formulated a plan. More shooting from the hip – the way he’d always done; playing every situation as a hand dealt to him, the same as a coin lands how it lands.
A secret service cop finally walked up to him after several minutes of ridiculous tantrums. He had begun to wonder if they would ever bother to enforce their police state. He’d already called most the people’s names he could remember any number of epithets for their character, their actions, their livelihood.
“How are you today, sir?” the stern young face asked in pubescent tones.

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Soapbox Artist: collecting art & literature of the worst kind