Twentynine Palms two thousand eleven a salty, old Marine tried to tell me the legend of the Joshua Trees he spat brown juice from…
It’s all very poetic To gaze at oneself through a cracked mirror But far more tragic To wipe down a faultless one And find your…
sometimes, you reduce him to this: the place at the back of his head where the hairs have begun to fall out still, he becomes…
Circumstantial evidence entertains Thoughts of legitimate rape of the mind and memory Eliciting nomenclature of no men gathered in the recesses Pouncing As if Nothing…