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  • SPRING ISSUE #1 2010
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  • WINTER ISSUE #7 2012
  • SPRING ISSUE #8 2012
  • SUMMER ISSUE #9 2012
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small town blood

news died away
some random name scratched into a crapper door

small town blood has two sides
earthed in the heart from birth

loved
he left for good

lilies still fresh in our broken yards




eels at sunset

for the fleece she bequeathed my silver mind

I tossed eels at sunset to mark my loneliness

this un-world and that cracked bliss of imagination

kept me

unkept

in meagre sight of myself

the carrion of laughter fixed in her listless jaw




ever loved

there

beneath the leaves of your existence

smiled the only turd you ever loved

your name written backwards on god’s left palm


 



in celebration


she returns unspoken;
fragments of mantras
cradled in a deathmind.

sunlight swells in morning
rooms; a glad and abstract
ghost.
we are alone, as always, 
unobserved by angels of
any creed.

she breathes a hatchet-flock
of elated doom from the
root of every motherless
hour.
lesser prayers scratch open
the wail of buttoned-down
skin.

together, far removed,
I have known always:

her.




drink the stars

the hundred hearts of my face, looking up.
spines of gone midnight prop me, useless,
in the mouth of it; my warm bloodedness
futile and precious.
I have no questions and only a child’s 
tongue to articulate;

sublimity spins me to the pavement.








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