...burning the old sod down.Watching the embers crawllike slow drunken lordsacross the blackening field.A proper British bonfire, that—whilst I piss on the roses. And God saved the hedgehogwho mistook my pyrefor some pagan ritual—Like Sunday roast gone Methodist,with pamphlets for...

I am the resonance of tonsils against the vault, a jagged humpeeling back the velvet of the throat to find where the cordshang loose and wild. Inclined to shake the marrow from thearchitecture. They are not tethered to the...

...down-and-out in Saginaw, with red-eyes from drinking anesthesia's cheap "hooch", once a promising somebody, now a Vampire, with weeds over the nave's grave...and then, along came Joan, slowing talking Joan, with her hands on her hips and a face...

The doc said, "Son, it ain’t wise," with his clipboard and his sigh,"that burn ain’t meant for swallowin’, just dab it when you’re dry."But I grinned and tipped my bottle, let the sting roll down my tongue, a fire-kissed ambition —...