Category: Poetry

For every sad, solitary shoe that I see scuffed and faded, slowly breaking down on the side of the road, I know there is a story of something left unfinished, of things left unsaid I want to travel the streets to collect these shoes so that I might feel the impressions of distant feet and …

Chivalry isn’t dead. It’s having a lighter when a pretty woman needs one.

As it appears in the 2012 American River Review You silver-tongue drunk serving your self-    loathing like an aphrodisiac Spreading women’s legs to expose weathered cunts Claiming Godhood       and death          laughing at          your          and our impotence until       the fires burn out Your painted pictures of the Basin       as paradise       fuck       with my          ability to write …

She walks,   legs unsure as her lover awaits. Eager and nervous   her heart beats double, hands shaking as they   slide down the wooden banister. Her anticipation turns to arousal   as she nears the landing, blood gorges her sex as   moisture slips down her thighs. The moment is soon to come   as she takes the last …

Eighteen months, Eighteen months and five days to be exact, since she left him. His heart broken, not by her hand, but by his own. With no desire to care or connect with her on the levels she needed him most. All that time he has tasted her on the back of his throat, the …

She cried out to God, my mocking screams causing her eyes to open wider, those eyes mimicking her mouth as my screams ridiculed her words. Fear was there, in her eyes, and all I could do was smile and nod, so that she knew. Knew that her fear was not misplaced, that her screams could …

Territorial Pissings- Paranoid, they’re after you. It’s never a woman because you’re just an alien. When I was better. Love your brother, find everybody a smile. A way to get together, wise man. People, another culture. Come on, right now, a better way, gotta find opinions. Breed- If it’s old, I don’t care. “I’m away …

The Neo-Nazi, shaven head and camouflage shorts. His dirty wife beater contrasting his dirty black paratrooper boots. Boots that are laced up with clean, bright red and white laces, leaving no doubt that his people alone shall inherit the Earth. He smokes his cigarette and casts angry glances through eyes squinting in the sun. Veins …

The ad will read: “Woman wanted; to help in discovering if male is a necrophiliac. Must be alive but not attached to remaining that way.” It will run for a week in the paper and if anyone wants me to, I will gladly pay. It’s a risky proposition, but you never know. My friend says …

I was molested by the sun today. I cried. No one listened, and the sun didn’t stop.