A voice I heard said a number this morning.A tragic laundry list of inevitability,of injured,of dead,of statistical truths.A cup ofblack bitter numbers at my breakfast table. Numbers tell stories.The numbers of lies,of words of hate,of speeches that divide and of weapons that kill. Numbers, like digits on our country’s trembling hands,broken, maimed, shattered hands covered …
THE NUMBERS (written for Borderline Grill Massacre) Read More »
Glass jars, each filled with a different color of dirt. hallowed ground, the dirt of the killing places beige, black, brown, grey and red dirt. I stand. and …I am not able to say anything. I imagine their ancestral home lands, the soils of fertile rich other places, of coffee, of cinnamon, of nutmeg, of …
Sonny started singing while he shuck the martiniI realized right then and there I wanted mine stirred.They all had red jackets like those carnival monkeys playing the snare drums,banging out cocktails for tips.100 years and nothing much has changed I guess.Flirting bartenders interrupting my intimate conversations about love and death.Go away, I was just getting …
Stuffing toilet paper in my ears doesn’t work all the time. Sometimes the music is just too loud. Johnny is an asshole and sucks cock. It says it right there. A knife to the door of the stall does the trick. The poetic musings of a spurned girl etched in block letters. How long must …
