Elt tripped over his thoughts stepping into the light, swinging against the weight of his gun. The matte black Impala soaked in afternoon sun while waiting for backwoods dust to settle. The thick pine wood isolated the road in a semi-circle around them. Elt didn’t think he needed the piece, but it made him feel good – powerful.

“Even when we go to the fucking McDonald’s, he’s ordering oatmeal.” Mosely didn’t retort, just grunted back at Elt’s whining. Elt always did the talking. Mosely knew these jobs made Elt nervous. Mosely liked his job. He pretended Elt’s monologues beset him, but despite the squealing pitch, Elt could find humor in the long pauses of their job that gave Elt the creeps. Elt figured it didn’t bother him, but never tempted fate over the line. 

“I mean who does that? Pretentious prick.” 

Elt eyed the meadow between the trees and the woods suspiciously. He flicked the safety of his piece on and off, then stopped when he got nervous that he’d lost track of where he left off. 

“Alright, flip for it?” Elt tried not to sound too casual. Mosely took the bait. He left his wide frame straight on as he turned to side eye Elt. Heat from the Impala filled the space between them. That’s the closest Elt got to confirmation. He called “tails” on the quarter pinging through the air.

He smacked the quarter over and allowed himself a slanted smile, “I win.” Again, he timbered his voice to stay even. If he knew one thing from jail that stayed true no matter what, don’t piss off the big guy. Especially when you only made it up to 180 pounds soaking wet. Mostly grease. 

Mosely grunted and uncocked the gun he had resting at his hip. If it wasn’t the cops, it was the farmers. If it wasn’t the farmers, it was Elt’s pale, pretty face and screeching to ruin a good job. Not sadness, but something relative to Mosely, pagned a bit at the thought of the loss. 

Little Hollywood

I’d like to die
ahead of all the times
I see you 
kill me. 

For the thousandth:

I take you places
to watch you enjoy them; 
set blueberries on your tongue,
giving life the bright eyes
with dark, polychromatic rings
warm me in the morning.

equals cute 
when what comes to mind

woh Or: How to Kill Time Without Killing Yourself

Another mailbox 
with a lump in its throat.
on the drive there,
like a virus catches on.
Important letters to send;
busy, busy, busy.
If you can believe it.
A barn so perfect
it could only house
endless flows
of stench-free horse shit.
A bit chilling to the eyes.

No rush. 

beneath their angelic
vocal cords. 
Whatever it takes
to Ave Maria.
Dulce et decorum est

Really, the point,
at your leisure please.

He doesn’t scare her. 
For how eccentric, 
how pathetically odd
he is
and she’s fine with that. 

I’ve sung this way
since paper pilots
wore leather flaps
over their ears.
I’ve also never
seen the animals.

Ugh, wrong notes.

You can let go now,
you neurotic
sack of...
Incredible how well
we craft illusions 
out of reality. 

You can let go.

I always thought 
the universe was
Not to sound ungrateful,
but turns out someone 
left their plastic model
next to a set of steel bells.

And it hit me.
How did they
even get there?
Like ticks on your skin.
When did they 
cross over
and start biting?
They must have borrowed
some poor sap’s webbing.
Can't sit around on a 
branch all day, right?
Busy, busy, busy
those ticks. 
I'd believe it.

I guess Thoreau
Never heard of 
“when in Rome.” 
Please, let go. 


Please enter here. 
 ____    __________________
|                                             |                   
D		                              P
|		                              |
O 	                                      A
|		                              |
N		                             N
|		                              |
‘	                                      I    
|		                              |
T                                           C
|            um, excuse me       |
|     ...?                                   !

		Yes?    So I can
I want, I mean                    stick
			Now I 
hold you        my

         glass slide
				you. 'Cause you
got                    it.                going going going 
gone. going on. Got it on. 

           Baggy af. 


  Filthy casual. By the time
  into                         pieces 
the - no -      with  
                     the glass. A puzzle


Bang. Bang. 🙂

Too late. I've got      
     the box. 

Atom Discovers Fire

I discovered a new element.
It cures ailments,
makes people happy,
pushes past dark thoughts
to transform
this harsh, volatile world
into a generally
livable space.


scarcely little exists.
We fight over it,
hate over it,
and altogether bastardize
its original
for our selfish desires.
a fragile and clumsy thing.