We’ve never lived in Culver’s territory and it still doesn’t
feel like we do. I mean, it’s at 33rd and Iowa and our place
is at 9th and Indiana. That’s like a 15-minute drive.
Every writer knows the rule of ‘write what you know,’ but the interesting thing is that you don’t really know what you know until you write it.
With the bobby pin I’ve kept beneath my tongue all morning, / my fingers spring the lock to my parent’s bedroom // where mom’s cherry lipstick glows beneath a seashell lamp.
You joined in, and told Danielle that she should only serve us drinks in diamond pimp glasses.
I am hairpin volcanoes and ugly seahorses. / A rejected and quaking paradise. A pile of aged-rafter / forearms. I am not a house, but a chaos of candy bones.
That afternoon she insisted I wheelchair her to the gunfight.
I based the Australian on a man I met in a coffee shop when I was 19. We went back to his place and did coke together, and he told me all about himself...
WEED MILEY. Come back to us Weed Miley. I plonk down on the water sofa. Weed Miley screams into the mirror. She had invited me to join them. Weed Miley talks here, I then talk. Weed Miley enters wearing a cloth nightgown.
New Jersey as land of claws & fangs & deep fields of grass that stumble onto the side of the highway // New Jersey as fields of soft dirty ice // New Jersey as blondhairblueeyes slapping you in the face at lunch in the cafeteria in front of all your friends
The cartels were losing the battle. Everywhere they dug they met a new obstacle. There was freshly poured concrete down their northwest tunnel. They discovered recently installed top of the line micro security cameras. They came face to face with growling German shepherds.
At first, it seemed like a poet’s dream day job. A job of watching, then describing.
I’ve mooned away my marriage, / grounded it, ripped the fuselage / in two, or is the better metaphor
to say I heard the countdown go / from ten to zero and didn’t even / try to stop my wife from breaking / the gravity of disaster planet me?
On that rainy morning of that last day, I delivered some homemade ajiaco, Colombian chicken soup, to my mother, and my ex-girlfriend who was expecting a child that might be her husband’s or mine.
The Club pursues a shaky business proposition, and Jax must decide where his allegiances... more
Some songs sound best under the sun. Some are night-blooming. These you hear clear in dark-dark; maybe there are stars.
“I Go To... more
The day we met, you told me Los Angeles was home but that you were born in Houston. It was the insurance company’s orientation day for new employees, and you were standing alone at the far table, looking around with hesitation, like a child on the first day of school.
“Bit ‘im in the jugular,” the truck driver tells me about the bear ten feet away, describing the day the bear went crazy.
She’s still searching for hers but isn’t jealous. She’s happy I finally found my med. I take it in the morning with my cereal, and... more
I was a loser and I was a fifth grader and I was hoping, never prayin’, to watch somebody open a can of whoop ass on The Stevens... more
The morning of our second date I drew a card – now I can’t remember which one...
In this plastic bayou we’re not customers,
we’re guests. POPEYES GUEST 138,
YOUR ORDER IS READY. Guests, yes,
but also numbers—we’re not in Panera
1
[meimei’s a meatness sis slug of blood boat the body tiger the teeth selfie tongue selfie chintilt selfie lilt her lily pucker... more
