Anyway, Always

Thinking about it now, I’m not the least bit sorry for the hateful shit I’d said to you eleventy years ago, when I was a kid and you fucking knew better. I rescind my apologies. Not that my sorries ever meant a good goddamn to you, anyway— they were ever only as true as yourContinue reading “Anyway, Always”

Trailerparkal Tendencies (continued)

My mother met an over-the-road trucker named Ken, who moonlighted as a fauxy cowboy. She thought he looked like Burt Reynolds; Smokey and the Bandit, eternally scarred. In the words of Buford T. Justice, “Suuummm-bitch!” Worse though, he pissed all over one of the greatest westerns ever filmed, Tombstone, with his imitation Doc Holliday. “I’m your Hunkel-berry,”Continue reading “Trailerparkal Tendencies (continued)”

Life With My Mother

I love her to the point of madness, my mother, a paradox wrapped in sun-kissed paper flesh. To embrace her is to hold an armful of hollow bones; the shell of a woman short-lived. If only you could study the photographs of my childhood, or look through the lens of my mind’s eye, you wouldContinue reading “Life With My Mother”