dOn the beach you said rocks explode if you throw them in a fire. I said they didn’t. In the kitchen you confided you had always been wary of prepackaged meat patties. I said that I had always been wary about seafood chain restaurants.

Can’t Stop The Now...

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Super Blue Moon

Wednesday night on my couch dropping a dime On myself, circle, and diameter I got the syllables, I got the rhyme Still can’t nail iambic

The Big Break

So I wave hello from the other side On the golden road nightmares often make Turn around with sim’lar color surprise Is this me thanking

Alt77: Hot Rod Stigmata

There’s something campy and demented about William Steffey’s Hot Rod Stigmata that reminds me of the Butthole Surfers if they could stand still for enough