Poetry exploring Phoenix Arizona, the midwest, or in travel. Celebratory, deconstructionist, themes. Please talk to us about any inquiries.

Nothing don’t no work no dope face pig slop tongue ever uttered a clear word. You could punch the teeth out of his smile like popcorn on theater floors man. nothing don’t no work no nadda game type individual with a shaved neck. Saved every eyelash since he started that blinking thing. He sniggers he say go black you don’t back he sniggers and his eyebrows furrow like putting cigars out on a dog’s nose. his girl smiles like the first time she hated her dad over mashed potatoes.

Pull myself open like a high school frog and stay out late. The down kids of the desert and their high fives bikes their bloody nosed girls with tight ass and godzilla gag reflex. Tell me about the fine wine she spilled off the diving board of her bottom lip down her chest. some kinda lap dance confessional with a faded face.

You and me got to stop drinking or we dead. You got a life like a tile floor and a janitor pissing on his shoes. Nothing don’t work no more like it would in a magazine. Some say I read letters like sentences. some they here to watch me do it dead.

I, as an elephant at its parents grave between two cities.

Chain-smoking groceries are built,
flower store owners choke their hands.
Countertops indent the clerk’s clothes,
muscles wrinkle her six dollar guilt.
Teachers forget to water classroom plants.

Drivers shout fuck at closed windows.
Birds clench and crowd wires, more perch.
Salted butter gets mad and melts itself.
Sons grow to sweep floors, dust shelves.
Their tables wage war with peas and forks.

Hair and nails persist in cemeteries
while the lawns are manicured.
Past Dixie’s Workout, past trail-clumped leaves

Tommy wrecks his bike, its spokes rust.
Where kids make mudballs spiked with nails
to defend from invasions across the creek.