Tampa Red and Django by Ferro
a cold rainy November night is on the way.
The sequins and lace around my heart
will be traded for burlap,
my ears meanwhile will smoke peyote
and go to New Mexico.
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No More Masters
The bones are really breaking inside of me and I have no one left to conceive of no imagination to dry up no silence to feign I have no fore...
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Soaking up the rain and whipping spit of the waves, as he stood next to the ocean of my memory, a fire hydrant in a red windbreaker, glaring...
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"Well...that was dramatic." I didn't know what he meant until I saw the ink spilled everywhere and the moths in her hair like ...