Category: Prose Poetry

I can’t be sure where I was supposed to be

The store is harsh white bright lights with splashes of green the brand color, peach square floor tiles and faux-mahogany wood, and the person behind the register with hands squarely planted on the counter shoulders up, What Can I Do For You? in a tone done repeating himself. I have come to the wrong place. Are you the new hire? he asks. Yes, yes … Read More I can’t be sure where I was supposed to be

Why be something when you can do nothing, nothing at all with your life

I have to be out of the house by eight because the meeting is at nine it’s at nine it’s at nine. This can’t wait I have to meet him today, this morning, in 7 hours, I need to go to bed. But I haven’t written anything. I need to blog and I have homework and I need to set up other interviews and … Read More Why be something when you can do nothing, nothing at all with your life

Sad Lack of Beauty Rotten Writers

I’ve been to critique groups with Marilyn, they all smell of dust and the boredom of spare time. She has hobbies now and actively participates in her community. I believe she even votes Democratic. She is always happy has a husband and a 401k, flowery vacations to romantic isles she has a hobby to write a novel about. There is dust in her eyes; … Read More Sad Lack of Beauty Rotten Writers

What is Written On The Faces… Consuming

The faces are in the bricks one by one piled into the wall. I can feel them staring and observing and criticizing; the cardboard houses shutter beside the dumpsters as the crows ascend, fleeing. I can feel them watching as I crawl from the alley. The faces are in the windows a hundred stories high. I know they face down and are watching and … Read More What is Written On The Faces… Consuming

Servitude Sine Qua Non Capitalism

The daily sweat burning August sun into the red of my neck, head bent day long placing pavers up a driveway to a three car garage. Exhaustion is when limbs get numb, dehydration underestimating the volume of a gallon water jug. When the lamppost by the cascading stoop comes on, lights an orb with edges dissipating into a night hiding the house’s upper-floors… there … Read More Servitude Sine Qua Non Capitalism

How To Undo My Metamorphosis

I am the exoskeleton on the couch, the shell with six stick legs that kick with random ticks of subterranean neural sparks. The cushions here are comfortable. I can’t remember what I’ve been watching on the TV. The TV seems to be off. There are beer bottles brown vessels empty on the coffee table glued to the finish with the stick of my ejaculate. … Read More How To Undo My Metamorphosis

In Pursuit With Excitement

I am running today. There’s a length of road unfurling from a spool I dictate; on this side green idyllic valley, on this side clean urban culture, up ahead, a destiny. The running isn’t running, it’s a brisk walk that won’t wear me out, but the scenery changing and the unfurling fast enough to keep exciting, to stay excited about moving, not looking back … Read More In Pursuit With Excitement

Being Who You Want To Be

I’m in a hole and the six feet of dirt over me is the refuse of every project I half-heartedly take on. This is my circular dream and I am a square inside of a square inside of square inside of square. My dream is circular: naked before rust-stained flannels and jeans faded by months of weathering life in the street: sidewalk-trawlers, wide-eyed and … Read More Being Who You Want To Be

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