Rafael

Wulligan pollyambled with Z from Crumpers away. The molly sheened polyangle waned neath nether teemed nor still.

Picture you, picture me, picture this.

I punched Frankie Muntz in the arm. "Ow!" he yelped. "That hurt!" "That real enough for you?" I snarled and left him miserably rubbing his arm. I paid for cigarettes, the real rank kind with more tar...

Where words contradict

a synesthetic amalgam of distress syncopation in suffering fractured muted tones that tourniquets of artificially sweetened light can not displace.

how strange the girth of this worthless shirt worn by the strange earth burps how odd the shoes worn by foot rot not blot socks and what is that underneath the neck chest how strange this stranger...

the queen bee hums, the king deciphers

A blaze of cameras

She's double trouble

sunny spots on church walls walking wear and winter near too late for those shorts cold wind a haircut a toothbrush put those clothes away winter is near it's too late for those shorts time to cover...