My first substituted coughing for breathing. It had no nose no eyes just a smooth feverish body: incurable tenderness. My second did have a nose brown eyes and soft full gums. She looked like my uncle the one I’d only seen pictures of — the one I knew I’d have loved the best. This baby…
I’m tired in my hands from tearing at walls and my feet are bored with kicking, but the head stays open and empty. Some dream crowbars and files, steel fists and paper parapets, the night watch blind in the searchlights, but if the doors opened they’d root in the stone like ivy; they’d lock themselves…
I am pregnant with my life. It will be red and immediate. It will have short fingers, very strong. Its eyes will grow later. To give birth to it at all I have to crack my skin, split up the spine, throw away my hair and my glazed mouth. Naked and the focus of lightning…
I exhausted the local dentists. They had nothing to say. Even the specialists in the city were silent. All I wanted was an explanation. – Why are my teeth falling out? – You've been working too hard. – I'm a healthy man! – Don't argue. Cut out the night life. That's when it started, hm?…
Tarzan refreshed. He completely emptied his mind for two minutes lying in underbrush; not even “rhinoceros” the word remained. His open hibernated eyes looked for snakes and other jungle effluvia. I’d settle for that power if I could also be handsome like a slightly chubby blonde folksinger. And my non-publisher likes my snide frivolous tone…
I want to be mentioned more. I want to be able to be dramatic: a sculptured Renaissance mouth fifteen feet high. I want all the pistol fingers. I want to drive up in a Bentley as big as a boat. I’d like somebody to see to this pretty quickly.
Ol’Sam he go by the code of the hills, he paddle his raft into Teaberry Mills an gun down all the squares. “Take that, you rats!” he spit through his teeth, he toss’em a dead skunk for a wreath an fiddle away his cares. The woods she perk up all her ears, O m’darlin dance…
Through the window the moon shone on the table so hard We once in a while shielded our eyes While we told from our lives stories that broke small Bones in our toes, sent you crying to another room Only to return to tell something that popped my nipple Across the table, making a sudden…
There is a city block but the streets are canals but it’s not Venice and there are swans gliding around the corner I’m following this girl who has love-handles that really are handles she goes into a drugstore where an old woman in dark glasses and powder blue Sunday clothes is dealing smack I…
Winter 1979 - Digital
1 × $6.99 
Winter 1996-97 - Print
1 × $14.00 Subtotal: $20.99