Wheel of Conflict

So the wheel is conflict of evolution revolution

involuntarily defending unending cycles of emotion

motion unaware of introspection passing inspection

eroding simultaneous valleys of truth mountains

of lies eradicated dictionaries full of theories

full of contradictions of speculations of testicular

germination within the stamen of auricular

excretion God yes! we have evolved beneath the

wheels of hybrid industrialized mastectomies apart

from separate misquoted peculiarities

summed up by the urine stains on your bed

The Smell of Gunpowder

My old man wasn’t

stupid. He just thought

everything sounded like rain. Anything that didn’t sound

like rain, he thought

smelled like gunpowder. Of

course nobody understood these oddities,

hence the stupid

label. Some people act dumb

when they’re drunk, but are smart when

they’re sober. Other people are smart

when they’re drunk, but dumb as a lump when

they’re sober. Not my old

man though, he was just the same

whether liquored up or

not. My mom just ignored him. I

think maybe she tried to poison him once

and just screwed him up

instead of killing him. Everything she

cooks just sounds like rain so she

really has nothing to complain about.

His condition has provided us with multiple

sources of income, so

we get by quite comfortably. My

old man talks to me sometimes.

He says he loves the sound

of rain, and the

smell of gunpowder. Then

he gives me a hug and all I

hear is a chainsaw.

Flowers & Graffitti

Apple Cider

This was published a while back in Nomad Magazine