Sip, mon amour, her emerald lips whisper,taste the moon dissolved in my tongue.The glass tilts—a slow, seductive shiver,as absinthe drips, thick and young.Ah, cette fee... she coils ‘round my spine,her breath—licorice, fire, and rue.The spoon’s silver teeth leave sugar...

...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 —...