Dear God

Dear God: Sorry about the end of print. I always liked the smell of ones and zeros as they peeled off the screen onto my paper. I hope you are happy in Autobot Heaven, though. —Nietzsche & Brian

Moisture

[…this poem originally appeared in a San Diego Writers’ Ink Anthology…I think] There, when the air is just like that when you feel it an it becomes sticky, salty, like sand my entire machine shifts gear and I become something else again and I remember what happens to time because it’s like some Kindergarten worm-hole … Read moreMoisture

No no no, THIS one…

…ever since I learned Auden wanted “Sigfried’s Death March” played at his funeral, I’ve been obsessed with what I might INSIST be played at MY funeral. My answer has changed over the years. I have always been true, of course—which is why tonight I realized it had already changed. Back.