Frying untied shoe laces until the flowers rescued me and you slammed your head into the side of a dumpster, leaving me slack jawed and ball busted.


The dog-shit for morality smelled ok in the vicinity of the decision, so I went with you. I allowed the dog-shit for morality to dictate my life bending decisions in a random nature. Random ideology can’t do any worse than I have done in choke-holding the odds or in deciphering the swing of the pendulum, so I went with it. If hindsight is 20/20, then my foresight is an ill-fitted pair of coke bottle glasses with dead flies stuck to the windshield.

My destiny destroyed, I moved my tongue over your waiting clit because I couldn’t help but think that there were some restorative and healing powers in what was help captive between your roach-infested thighs.

I found myself in a neighborhood of ill repute with dirty unwashed hair,
broken dreams, broken air conditioner rattling out of control and my raging cholesterol going up another notch.

She squeezed out an infant into the on-going inferno. Darwinian adaptation forced it to close its eyes and climb back up the umbilical cord.

There’s a first time for this, just like there’s a first time for anything, but it feels like the last time. Sometimes, the last time feels like the first and vice versa. Sometimes Déjŕ vu reverses itself and leaves you feeling like you’ve never been somewhere you’re not.

You couldn’t leave me one last cigarette before you jack-hammered my mouth and finished me off in your low rent boudoir. Now my only relief comes in warm rice wine.

I polish my brass knuckles and wait for more.

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