Archive | June, 2012


29 Jun

 Her lower back tattooed with wings

Your giant fucking wrenches

I shake

I have x-ray vision

I will be meat for their Dobermans

The dangerous textures

of the world against her skin

Up close even the beautiful is ugly

The Universe is punishing me

(above is poem composed of titles of my previous blogs)



22 Jun

My penal record rolls out before me

a carpet trod red by those who arrive with babes in their bellies

and murder in their hearts

In modern America every perversion is permitted

but I have been criminalized,


who live in righteousness

my “self” hardly a self, merely a piston stroke

of obedience to God

The protocols of arrest and imprisonment

are like the procedures of


See me on the steps of the iniquitous clinic, my face impassive

my clothes inadequate for the weather, which turns ever colder

My sign says Life

My shadow runs before me like the beginning of a flood

a living stream

of conscience


My novel, TWO-HEADED DOG, is available for $3.95 from Amazon for Kindle.


21 Jun

The main road through Chippahitchka becomes a highway as it leaves town on both the east and west, but we don’t think of grounds privileges as an escape risk. Despite the hospital’s indignities, despite being at the mercy of ward staff who are uneducated and often mean, only a tiny fraction of patients have the nerve and the wherewithal to plunge back into the predatory world.

 Still, a yearning to swim in her father’s pool, a desperate longing for her children, so immaculately conceived that they didn’t exist at all, or an urge to feel the dangerous textures of the world against her skin, any of those could have pushed Tiffany to leave Highcastle’s and, with a new smear of lipstick, to saunter the two blocks to the edge of town, her jeans slung low, her lower back tattooed with wings, her pants’ legs fraying against the sidewalk, her feet bony but surprisingly wide in dime store flip-flops.


She would have taken a position at the grainy edge of the road, where it passed an abandoned hotel and momentarily had a scenic view of swamps and woods before it fell almost to the river, passed over the Victory Bridge, and headed straight west.

     Listen you can hear them now

The angels slice into my head like crystal

I don’t need to be in the Mental Hell System I can hitchhike to the Golden State

At night I hear the waves calling

 Tiffany your babies are awaiting you Where are you Tiffany? Where are you?

              A lank hip seductively cocked, a sluttish look on her face, her lips inviting rough kisses, the top two buttons of her blouse unbuttoned, she would have extended her thumb. 


 –from my novel, TWO-HEADED DOG, published by Dirt e-books, available for $3.95 on Amazon for Kindle.



19 Jun

“Yeah, sure——and someone once slapped a Ford logo on my Gibson guitar. Dig, sometimes you’ve got to let people be who they are, work out their own karma. You can’t just lean in like a shade-tree mechanic, spray ‘em with WD-40 and re-torque their internal combustion with your giant fuckin’ wrenches, you know what I mean?”

–from “Shade Tree Mechanic, published in Crack the Spine, ADAPTED from my novel TWO-HEADED DOG


13 Jun

Seen today on a 2012 Calendar (sponsor unknown):

“Friends are the flowers in the garden of life.

Take time to smell the flowers.”

This is wise advice, and I request that all

my friends shower regularly. Thanks!

My novel, Two-Headed Dog is available for $3.95 from Amazon for Kindle.


10 Jun

You buy me a tube of lipstick I shake from medication and you guide my hand

–from my story “No Grunge Punk,” published in The Montucky Review

“No Grunge Punk” was adapted from my novel TWO-HEADED DOG, available for $3.95 from Amazon for Kindle




6 Jun

            In my years of working at the hospital, I have developed a sort of x-ray vision, the ability to see inside the patient. Under the ugliness is often beauty, under dysfunction, capability. I catch glimpses of Tiffany before her illness smeared and distorted her. I see her in sunshine, looking up from where she is kneeling in a bed of rich earth in which she’s planted flowers. Her white blouse is soiled. She doesn’t care, but it’s the carelessness of vibrant life, not the dull apathy of disease.

from “Shade Tree Mechanic” published in Crack the Spine

This story was adapted from my novel TWO-HEADED DOG, available for $3.95 from Amazon for Kindle.