Dream Highway Remark Magazine Issue #14 Infinity, a highway of dreams I hitchhike to quench this need. If you were heroin, I could have sweated you out on a mattress steeped in flesh, but your needle sliced too deep... pierced my soul, and this addiction that you nurse over phone, through mail requires more than you are willing to give. 3000 miles and a wedding ring stands between us, yet you feel but a heartbeat away. Trust me... I never wanted this. I never wanted this lust, this forbidden desire that rips me from sleep and cries your name, but I am hooked and like a junkie I am back on my knees begging for the taste of your lips, to cradle me back to sleep. Cutter The Bukowski Hangover Project my beauty is only skin deep my daddy told me so she whispers between sobs as she slowly carves a long-stem rose into the soft pale flesh of her lightly freckled forearm with my freshly honed Italian stiletto her blood blooms into tiny red petals in the dark ages she whispers doctors bled the sick so the illness seeped out but millions still died of God's Black Plague how deeply do you think I must carve until this disease that corrodes my heart oozes to the surface and you like all those silly men before run from the madness daddy injected into his 13 year old baby girl Bridgett Bardot The Hold Magazine I drink fall down puke rise to drink another bottle I write this shit & on good days lose myself between the thighs of tender flesh on bad days find myself choked between the sad thighs of middle age and some days the sunrise ejaculates between my fingers like a teenage boy lost inside autographed photos of Bridgett Bardot

Chorizo & Eggs Unlikely Stories, Underbeat 2, Babel Magazine Shooting 8-ball with this college puke who keeps buying me scotch and soda the little fuck unaware that soda destroys the taste of scotch malts so I may as well be sipping metallic tainted bathtub gin and he says "Barfly was a cool movie, man you think you could kick Bukowski's ass?" and I do think I could shove this cue stick up this college boys asshole till the tip winks like an eyeball out his lips or just walk away down the back alley home where Carmelita a $10 Mexican whore waits to share chorizo and eggs while I scribble these lines Stay The Hold Magazine in absence of my chest ablaze in a fiery tangle of your teased red hair, you sleepily exale a kaleidoscope of dreams and promises left unfilled while this drunken hero splashes brandy into a plastic cup, inhales the butt of night for its last hit of smoke, then grinds it away into the bedpost. I know you must leave, but must you leave the sweat and musk of my spent body to linger like the scent of some exotic douche between your thighs as you slip into your panties to rush home to a husband who has left unfilled even more of your dreams than I? Unbroken The Hold Magazine. Babel Magazine If I had a dime for every dish daddy splattered like a defective clay pigeon into the kitchen wall and a dollar for every bruise that eclipsed momma's sad blue eyes like some dark dying star and maybe a nickel here and there for every childhood bone splintered like a rotted bamboo shoot in daddy's drunken Vietnam inflamed hands I'd be a millionaire getting my cock honed by 18 year old coke whores in some ghost tainted mansion on that Beverley Hill where loyalty is metered by the powdery white prison bars that cut a mirror no one ever bothers to gaze too deeply into and not this semi-reformed heroin fiend laying next to you, Marie biding my time between your breasts and the steady blood rhythm of your heartbeat with a notebook full of paper promises, IOU's for love drawn on the failed bank of poetry waiting sweet Marie always waiting for your lips to find me in the wide expanse of this dream where like a wild Mustang I buck free of daddy's reins

Cocaine & Tequila The Hold Magazine you're so right as usual Sarah I am just another drunk writer barely afloat in this cheap mexican tequila so wiggle your ass slam the door rush those rented tits down to your high class strip club stuff those $20 bills into your g-string cocaine up your nose leave me to rot on this broken down barstool to scribble odes to nothingness on booze stained napkins and in 10 years darling Sarah while I will have gone nowhere slowly on this rickety barstool your baby doll skin will have begun to age and crack like weathered porcelain and I still will be here and you will have nowhere to rush away to except some flea bag hotel room to feed your habit one blow job at a time Ghosts of Hollywood The Hold Magazine sirens echo screams through this paper thin hotel wall seems we all have animals we must cage dragons we must chase I close my eyes or do my eyes close me as horses tongue laps through my bloodstream I fuck the ghosts of hollywood starletts on cotton swab clouds and down in the alley judy garland leans her anorexic junkie shoulders against a piss stained red brick wall hikes her pink silk sleeve to reveal powder blue veins that scar her arm of alabaster marble and tonite judy and I are not afraid to die would be like sticking our tongues between midnites bruised thighs as we drift like ghosts into the silhouette of this moment