Rotting Penis Disease

Memories are just fragments of film. It’s odd, some of the events our brains retain, be they home movies, or pure fiction–intricate fabrications focused tighter and tighter over time. The power of suggestion is strong, indeed. My mother is one of those story tellers who believes in the fables she’s invented, says my dad. I

If Memories Were Fireflies

Girl-child, sun freckled, and blonde you grew smaller year by year my lap is too big for you Girl-child is a woman engaged now and memories are not fireflies housed in jars on summer nights or else I’d have a collection of endless summers   *photo: Mother Nature Network

I Reign Over Sand

You, she, and he tethered to me–a chain gang we be, chain smokers answering chain letters for luck. I’m in the lead–you put me here, but all the bad calls you will make; we stop dead when you see a fancy man you’d like to fuck over with your madness.   That was years ago

A time of my youth remembered…

I lay upon the summer earth–not in the shade, but beneath the god-like sun, soaking in the yellow hazy heat–and with eyes closed, stare at the light filtering through my thin lids, an orangey hue. Blades of grass, the wide ones perfectly made for whistling, they did most of the tickling; my  toes twitched, and my bare arms