SO mini preview of random stuff! This might become a short story, ish, thing.
It is possibly… very offensive. Is it just me, or does spring instantly mean writing about sex?
My lemon skin floats down the drooling pools of suburbia like dissolving bath ducks. I have poisoned every creek these crawling cul de sacs. They do not know I am feeding their lawns. I am growing green, nauseating their ankle-high primped pups.
I laugh at their fences, their elaborate shows of faith. They are wooden arrows pointing to God. They are wooden stakes to spear the vampires that seep in at night.
Vampires evolved. Vampires became thoughts. Vampires became crosses of crisp, drained grass, arching to stab at your exposed toes.
Vampires are well loved by God. They understand God better then any buttoned shirt. Vampires know that God needs blood.
I was thinking about God when Kieth arched over me in the drainage ditch. His hands were embedded in my hips, bleaching the skin around them. I studied the bloated, bleeding patterns inked into the concrete skin. I knew it was a necessary tribute. I pictured Jesus behind us, glowing like the light from another room.
God loves me because I sacrifice.
One of my favorite side effects of being labeled a poet has to be all the quirky nonsense that gets excused just because I write.
If I ever get well known for poetry (ha) I will certainly take advantage of this.
Why am I dropping water balloons full of paint off of this bridge? Research. Research for my next book. *Artist super power activated*
Chapter one of a fictitious self help book I might continue writing called Throw Self Help Books Out Of Windows. This chapter is called The Joys of Petty Vandalism.
Is it a short story? Prose poem? No friggen idea, but it does involve sexy stuff, so it might be worth a listen.
Have a sick sense of humor?
These are weekly comics showing people saying their last words! Great humor for terrible people!
I saw this rad ass lady yesterday at the Austin Poetry Slam. She kicks all the ass.
I’ve posted this on the Facebook page before, but I haven’t posted it here yet. It’s important and brilliant and I love it more than most things on the internet. Sierra DeMulder performing “Paper Dolls”.
I am so honored to have my poem featured on this amazing site, Project Unbreakable.
Goodnight Spring Break
Goodnight South By
Goodnight days that last until four
Goodnight home-cooked meals
Goodnight free time
Goodnight college parties everywhere