When La Llorona met Billy the Kid in the trenches of the Cimarron canyon, the world was black with smokestacks, burning as buildings became tumbleweeds. The scars of the trees were brighter than the mountains, now rounded hills of charcoal and we were all mountain men, bleary-eyed and mad with thirst. From the gorge, under […]
For one whole decade I was a giant:
when he comes home
When I am dead, I will still be your lamb, still listening for your bleating.
In the oven there are secrets:
crusts burned and flaked,
At night when barred owls
ask who cooks for you, she sits
by the window
Philly all the emo with none of the moshpit.
Philly free jazz in a trashbag.
From Mexico I brought you a silver and red heart:
I don’t like girls—our big, ugly nipples,
slumber parties, cucumbers damming
Rob ran a solid red, first car in pilgrimage
to Rocky Horror Picture show. He flicked a gaze back.