jack's crude beauty queen is a dented machine. she sits atop her record needle high holy pedestal, glowing, "look at how fast i make the world go!". her teeth scrap every vinyl sore in the top-forty hospital, screeching, "let's hear how much you miss the stereo!". her braces are starved railroad tracks running through a mouthful of tacks; silver ( Read more... )

we hunt the things that we let out of the cage. call it sport, but the bite marks leave a promise. we bought the things they swore would camouflage our age. call it botox, but our smiles are set in granite ( Read more... )

open beaks. unkempt music plays (posing face) in frenzied disarray. what say we make pacts for pretend resolutions; shed our fake tears for mock executions? i swear we'll be better. maybe if we remember, baby ( Read more... )

teasing black lights paint the garden a ghastly shade that blossomed in the opera. a stained glass masked man begs your pardon, and his face peels up like a trap door on an oiled hinge. the fumbling host tripped and switched the sky on. the audience groans as they realized their wrongs. the ruined house band says this is our song. "it happened too ( Read more... )

muzzle to muzzle ( Read more... )

every petal fell into the river in 4/4 time, swimming and hissing like newly lit matches ( Read more... )