Tossing away sandwiches, chewing gum, cigarettes, he made his heaven from wrappers, commerce’s carapace. Who would discard the meat of the thing: shake out the book and bow...
Only whiskey burns the sorrow as she grieves. Purple velvet once surrounded golden dreams. Both a season and a reason left on leave. Now a memory...
L’Auteur Fatslug   Fatslug wonders how people dreamed or daydreamed before the movies infiltrated their thoughts. He himself has become his own Steven Spielberg— or, depending on...
I hate you with the sharpness of the edges of a Viking's teeth I hate you from every part of my body - from...
In the photo of the kitchen fire, We are dressed for Christmas: Me in a flammable hand-me-down jacket, Her in her costume jewelry And her Edward Scissorhands...