whatever is interesting
in these places
is always happening
somewhere else
and i am a settler
not usually a seeker
the private theater
i conjure
through impairment
a trick of inebriation
decades in the making
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Forget It By Jeff Weddle
I’m writing this more or less for you. I’m writing this for slipping on ice and beer drunk afternoons, long, aimless drives, slow walks ...
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lemonade hair dead and deflated thin like a bleached ghost; mascara rings fat as a star pitcher’s eyeblack; she cracked her broken finger ba... -
Once he spoke the indirect speech of men, as if making bar bets after third drinks that become sincere, become angry, mean. Just his half jo... -
Diamond hair Bathe in bourbon and butter You are my Sunday prayer You are everything You are all You are life Rita S. Spalding has had poem...
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