dawn is a coffin stars take their graves in morning come night, resurrect

Life is a series of tragedies with… But what is good for those who suf… than what is good for those who do… —for Brian Salvador Curley

let’s say you’re trying to go somewhere who isn’t? but let’s say you never get there

streets become narrow and sidewalks vanish layers are important heavy socks and the right pair of boots

he does not to leave the vine out of any loathing for his kin he simply can not stay waiting around to turn to raisin knowing that out there somewhere

decorated in soft skin vines of fire drape around her fireproof face my eyes kneel in worship of a goddess passing by

the Buk used to write about the va… hanging around the downtown Los A… looking around the library here on 8th & Rio Grande i think

in all restaurants madness overwhelms the staff spirits break like plates

we conspire with the heretic to em… we summon hellish legions to arm u… with the fire of anger and the pestilence of despair with swords cast in spite

she dances like a fool at the idio… gracelessly fueled by cocktails and

disregarded flesh from abattoir to your plate feeding dominion

youth in his favor with young wome… a whole world ahead of him but the silly son of a bitch doesn… instead of seizing the day he spends his time obsessing over…

coiled in a moment of wonder to ponder the venom of his existen… remembering every instance that he prepared himself to strike with no recollection of hatching