About A Girl

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008T9SFCE/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B008T9SFCE&linkCode=as2&tag=widerscree-20https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/211811http://www.xinxii.com/en/double-pass-to-aberration-p-337017.htmlIt all seems so simple, as easy as sharpening a wooden stake and ramming it through the dead heart of a sleeping vampire. As easy as jumping off a suspension bridge into a plate-glass ocean below, forget rat-eating uncles and night-nurses with heaving chests, forget the past and concentrate on the here and now. Concentrate on staying alive, focus on not getting your blood drained and your eco-system re-engineered. I don’t care how cute she is, how alluring her eyes, lips, fangs are. Some women aren’t made to be considerate bed mates. Then there’s the kid from the band, the kid with the eye-liner and self-mutilation fetish, what’s up his skirt? Flying, that’s what, and it’s not the crash-landing bothers me; it’s him coming back as a sushi-munching zombie. Rock stars are bad enough when they’re alive, but dead, well, dead they’re a right pain the butt. If I had to choose, if my back was against the wall and my front facing the countess, I guess I’d go for the leeching, that’d have to be one fuck of a way to go. You can keep the zombie boy, keep him in your bath tub—keep him at bay—if you can. And so what if I never get to see sunlight again, who needs it anyhow. No, the dark is fine with me, as is sleeping in a coffin with a vamped-up temptress, sometimes, all you really have to do is just let go.  

Hunter & Hemingway

Hunter & Hemingway

Death rides a Harley
covered in post-it notes
chasing the dragon
the punt return,
no more phone calls, football season is over;
Johnny’s left the basement
The moot point & the point/discharged
smoking guns & wild turkeys
bullfights, postage stamps & grieving wives
we wrote the lines, drew the lines, inhaled them,
blotted & besotted
punctuated with violent intent
the last full stop a crimson droplet
running down a wall to the end zone.
Postscripts plastered on white boards & fridge doors,
The matador gouged
The wide-receiver gone too far . . .
the gentlemen won the cold war,
gnawing on a president’s skull
in a glorious graveyard;
listening to the anguished howls
of the lost & soon-to-be found.