He sat in the doorway  Of the dead superstore  The rain fell over the night  His guitar has no strings  He plays on Feeling the notes Strumming the rhythm  No sound but the rain He moans out the chords  To the empty street  Muffled by the rain

A ritual dissection of a malfunctioning oracle I. The Opening of the Cardigan...The autopsy begins not with a scalpelbut with the unbuttoning of Tonal Grump’s cardigana garment woven from misfired metaphors and verbs that refused to conjugate. Inside the lining, the examiners...

within me, without me I miss youseeking secrecy of feelingthen so callous when it comesendearing charm, your nature, and mine togetherWell aware you have othersBut that you wanted one like me surprises mereserved a special place for me, in...

tongues tangledteeth tuggin at skinthe tv throwinthat tired blue lighttowards your face there’s tendernessthru the tension of itthe terrible truththat I could takethis momenttoo far inside me turn it into somethintraced thru my fingers twistin it into panicthat three years from...