White Liquor

It was a sad day when William Blake shot himself in his library. When the police arrived at his home shortly after his wife called him, they found most of his books lying on the floor with some of the pages ripped out. His wife was standing near his body crying profusely while clutching his suicide note in her trembling hand. They wondered why such a renowned writer such as he would have even thought about killing himself. He seemed to have such a wonderful life. The homicide detective asked her what was written in the note, so she handed it over to him. The note said, “I had too many books to read. They just sat on their shelves laughing at me while I tried my hardest to read as many as I could. Intelligence is that selfish patronizing world that always seems to keep its distance away from me. When I find myself finally grasping a new concept, it opens a new avenue to another that will also eventually keep its distance away. Revelations are like the sweetest fruit that is too h...

Alive on your wave of wet torment, licking the moon of your lips, cradling your breath in my mouth as I held you submerged in my contracting core, held you within as you were within saturated with my pulse and flow. I went under, planted in the memories of your soul. You swallowed our merging with rapid speed. We evolved, stripped of every season, you and I with our initials carved on each other’s skin, undulating in our sensual, blessed commune. Eating from an imaginary spoon Sensual as clay laced with warm water, hard as a window barred - and still the seeds are thrown though I don’t know why - there is too much earth and almost no sun, there are slimy ponds that beasts and fowls eliminate in - spotted with dead-fish-eyes and not at all like heaven is suppose to be. There is a funeral in the fireplace but no one connected enough to mourn the dead thing burning. There are seven steps up and nine down, and indifferent cruelty has murdered every other form of synchronicity - I ...

Common Ground A delirious populous scurries to constitute their society while the gods of tyranny riding white horses approach. Mable made her daily bread from the cable TV recipes she copied down most copiously in a top secret journal. Made memorable by virtue of his soaring talent and wit the TV personality become crack politician was broken. They claimed we could become a nation united one day if only we would take up mourning the souls of demons. With a lump of expended coal suspended upon his palm Fred swore he’d never said what he meant to say instead. Of the budding plutocracy a philosopher enshrined shred the documents he’d intended to produce from plutonium. There was a protest when they rolled out the new policy declaring that organic fact is to be subordinated by vice. The shyster who schlepped oysters in Sheboygan bound by his caveat that to get respect you must first dish it out. On practically every street corner in Manhattan we he...

The Stewardess The time zones divide her in to portions and she struts through the aisle like a vision. Her sexuality is about to bust from her bra and she is a typical American. She reads Vogue and Allure and dabs her face with the suspension of a compact. Beauty can be pulled together like a bridge, but it can fall apart with an eye on the floor. She's a genuine heartbreaker - she'll eat it with her broken bread. She's got her men in a rolodex - When in Rome, right? Gay Art I find your sexuality erotic. The grinding of males can be found in local, gay porn theatres and in the shadows two males are gymnasts. How pleasurable can the taboo be under the mask of the anonymous. The screen is their mentor for outdated “crimes”. They vandalize one another in their bottoms and in their faces and this injustice is sex in full bloom. Can you climb the highest frenzy? They are modeled after the French. In all cases of love, they are modeled after the French. Ne...

First time his route-vein-hands opened and closed the door handle—six-foot something legs scissoring to a plastic seat, middle-age ass lost in puffy-wrinkle jeans, hot-nerd eyeglasses perched like chemistry-monocles on a Greek nose I suspect rises higher than it has ever looked down on colors he isn’t wearing—blue, green, yellow—I wanted to fuck him. Second. Third. Fourth. No hello. No sup. No idea about my calibrations, sensations, and misattributions. Fifth. Most necks can sustain terminal movement. For a while. I’m wearing mine out. I can’t stop. Shifting. Rigidity seeking permanency. Duh. Scintillation watching man-splaying, a bitty belly snug against gray cotton polo, and a pair of brown tennis shoes with white ankle socks. It’s as if every chair, every room, every world in which he’s been a participant has not only welcomed him, but asked him to stay. Please. Stay. He twirls a pen between sex-knuckle fingers; holds in the oth...

Julie never fell in love too much. She kept her heart guarded with loss and heartbreak. The office job was killing her. The mundane shit adults pretend to enjoy to keep the battle with legal tender and all the shit it can buy but happiness. She had gotten lonely since the divorce and with both the kids off to college the days flew by. It was work then home. Work then home. Work then home. Many of her friends had moved on and rarely had time to socialize anymore and Julie wondered if they had even been friends to begin with. She thought about the old adage 'if you want to know who your friends are throw a party' or 'if you want to see who your friends are call them to get you out of jail.' This brought a fake smile to her face but it didn't last long. The morning came just like the one before and Julie did her toilet followed by coffee and a bagel with a smear of cream cheese. She checked her messages on the phone and her daughter had text...

Hipsters (And Why I Hate Them) You’d think every one of them was a Michelangelo by the way they grinned. I want to climb inside their bodies and drive a steak knife through the bridge of their eyeglasses