Poetry

It takes a lot of desperation dissatisfaction and disillusion to write a few good poems. it’s not for everybody either to write it or even to read it.
Charles Bukowski

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Shorts

Mushrooms

Friday, June 6th, 2008

Sun light trickled through the blind across your face and down your chest. When you turned to the side it shown through your eyes, who’s illuminated green color stood tall. Your breathing deep and heavy as laughter from the couch danced near our ears. I have never looked at someone for this long before I [...]

Contact

Tuesday, December 11th, 2007

“Boss?” I look at you. A seagull flies over head and sqaws at us. Signaling that we are in fact the only two people on the planet at this moment. Strange that a seagull would be this far inland as we are at least a thirty minute drive form the nearest beach. You take a [...]

The Kitchen

Tuesday, December 11th, 2007

“You brought your own olive oil?” You ask in disbelief. I am handling the apron. I take the top and slide it over my head, moving my hair out from the strap, I look up at you. “Of course.” I say half cocky, half condescending. As if I don’t trust the olive oil in your [...]

His Eyes Were Green

Tuesday, December 11th, 2007

“I’m a little bit crazy” She said over her steaming cup of green frothy tea. She dropped her eyes and smiled to herself reminiscent of a serial killer. She continued. “But at least I know I’m crazy and not trying to convince myself or anyone else that I’m sane.” We were sitting on wooden and [...]

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