Author of various poems & texts published in lit zines such as:
Exquisite Corpse la us, Lost&Found Times oh us, Mudfish nyc us, NRG or us, etc...
3 books published by Runaway Spoon Press fl us
one fights
the forceps
impinging
upon futility
to rest a finger
on dead center
one
from a future battle
has returned
right now
one slips
in depths of cyclamen milk
like arboreal
So I go, \"What\'s up Pete?\" while he collapses down by the fridge and gasps: \"They stole my painting, man! They screwed me all the way.\" \"You wanna beer?\" I ask. \"No Slice, give me some shit
The other day, for reasons only he may grasp, Pete asked me to read something in his favorite medical zine. He says I should check out this one article. Half-heartedly I complied and through my
I can scarcely tell things apart, I\'m scared stiff amid this darkness. Nevertheless, I did make it.
Pete\'s painting is right in front of me. I can see it now; it\'s about five by eight inches,
I don\'t even know what to worry about first; Pete\'s handgun or his intriguing painting, I could not see last night. I\'ll go back to the gallery; that\'s for sure. I\'ll pretend I\'m a collector or
I promised my friend I\'d go to his opening. He is a painter. On the way to the gallery, my boring walk reminds me of something but I cannot remember what. So, i sway down the street together with my
strange labyrinth
this giant wound
you can\'t point out
from all obtuse matter
colliding inside you
yet
it alone
offers the privilege
of grinding your tongue
into a puree laughter
much
so what
all the attempts
to hold your eyes\' look
void and still
have failed
we do still own
horrendous stocks
of prometheus liver lookalikes
so what
we couldn\'t tune
the cybernetic
you dream you
entering this insect
whose prevented access
to clepsydra asylum
molds you
into an utter semaphore
that restricts the sphere
of freely exhaling agonies
from specifically marked