First Drafts: Children Of God

The room is flooded with smoke, the walls stained Nicotine and water spots. No one who lives here Gives a fuck. The ashtrays overflow and the Rayon orange shag Occasionally catches fire. There’s two girls knitting And passing a burnt lightbulb between the two of Them in the living room. No one knows their names […]

First Drafts: Web MD

that cough, the one you wake up with (sometimes) at 3 AM when you have to piss so hard your guts are floating. That’s cancer. same goes for your back ache. No, it’s not because you passed out hard at 2 in the morning On the couch, a spring digging into the tight caffeinated muscles, […]

First Drafts: Life Without Youth

I’ve never pictured myself with a young face.Even when I was a boy and see myself in the Mirror as I occasionally brushed my teeth andWashed with my father’s strong yellow soap. I didn’t see a smooth, feckless innocence’s. NoPorcelain white skin, no straw-colored curls, No smile only a child can smile. What I sawWas […]

First Drafts: Coffee

…I picture it as a burnt coffee smell. The grounds smoldering in the pot, the water evaporated and all that’s left is the heat of the stove, smoke, and the stink of melting copper wire. It isn’t an unpleasant smell, something foreign and overpowering. As I pad sockless across the cold tile, I try remembering […]

First Drafts: Last Morning in L.A.

A gun shot at 5:30 AM is like A distant thunder clap near The shore of a fog muffled Ocean. The squeal of tires Is louder than the blast. There are no screams, no Pleading for a life, or big Shallow tears washing down Cheeks, smudging mascara. At least not before the Television cameras show […]

Frist Drafts: Scum

The green scum of the pool Is at least an inch thick. Crisp Brown Fall leaves and rotting Grass clippings cling to the Brine, becoming a part of the Filth. But for some reason, the Water still stinks of chorine. All Stoners are the same, they keep You trapped and waiting in their Drifting flat […]

First Drafts: July 4, 2017

The Arizona night growls, Cicadas perched on the blistered Leaves of near bare summer Tree branches, their Thousands of throats an Aggressive hum competing against Man-made thunder. The air hangs Greasy with charcoal, cordite, And the tang of scorched hair and Burnt skin. There’s a moment of complete Silence just as an M-80 sucks in […]