Wilderness Run [fiction]

Across the wilderness’s heated hardness growing, Sarah quickened with memories rushing at her. She ran until she had to rest, wishing for a Long Island iced tea to quench her thirst and dull the memory of leaving him behind in San Diego all those years ago.

She spat sand as he surfed in on a Pacific memory, found her, and filled her thoughts with his sweet and sour past. She chose to diet on the sweet parts—her crutch, always.

Sweet was the sugar on her mind, melting to soft goo that made her speech simple and her brain drowsy and caused her to curl into a fetal position and doze from reality.

The creature stood over her, watching while she slept.

The Haunting [fiction]

Rain woke her.

It struck against curtained glass like the nails of something evil wanting to come inside.

Sarah sought safety behind two pillows a kiss away from each other; his picture and a bottle of Jim Beam Black watched over her in the swoon of the night.

Soft chills shivered though her body seeking the safety and warmth of his body in memory.

It was a rainy night when they first made love. It was a rainy night when they stopped. It will be this bed and rainy nights that will entangle, hold, and haunt her forever.

Ode To Dali [fiction]

Frozen morning creaking and screeches spoke from a thousand dull trembles. Heaped breaths billowed from seekers seeking suet and seed. Rabbits and mice ate carrots and cornmeal at Sarah’s feet.

Thunderous trembles agonized across her front lawn when John Dey’s sky blue Chrysler dragged ass past her and sent bone-saw grunts to scamper her guests from the open sea of snow. After several backfires, she knew there was a lord mightier than the devilish owl rustling and hooting at the fiendish wind slapping and bleating most tragic.

Icy trembles sent Sarah indoors to find warmth in her day room filled with art—strange art, Dali’s art. His surrealism was large in the breath of a kiss against a hand flying from the highest limb of war—its rose-colored design set exclusively for the cosmic ballet’s athletes. His Mother Nature in a still life moved fast, searching for the fourth dimension in desert gardens filled with masturbating fruit dyed by ribbons of a Mediterranean color.

Decipher his art, if you can decipher his mind, and you will experience the vertigo of the human absolute of consumption—Eat … eat cosmic orality … eat everything! Gourmandism … cosmic cannibalism … Gala’s table is set with so much grace … Eat, eat, eat young girls, he said all those years ago … they have exquisite insides (they blush when you try to make them edible). He said, Eat, eat, eat young girlsthey tremble when you tell them they are beautiful!

BEAUTY, he said, SHOULD BE EDIBLE OR NOT AT ALL.

Sarah trembled cosmic fourth-dimension screeches beneath a desert sun of his art. She was his for the taking. He came to her and plucked her like beautiful ripened fruit blushing on the vine.