I am missing you something fierce in these
greenfields & oil fields & fields of scary love I do not like.
I tell Ghost Dad I’m moving out
on him, and he shatters like a saucer
I didn’t quit acting because of a bad director, bad experience, found the career to be useless or self-indulgent. I quit because of an eating disorder.
When I kissed her foot there
in the dark in the tent I never wanted
that feeling to end I wanted nothing more
At its peak I am confident. I’m attractive. I’m funny. I sparkle and dazzle. Everyone likes me at the peak. Everything is possible at the peak.
You’d share your pockets in the cold
when I was too headstrong to go back
inside and grab a jacket, and I’d laugh
Marianne had walked in front of the store every day for years. But only when her husband left her, only when she came home to find his closet empty, did she press her face to the glass.
Any given day I might be on my stomach trying to run an illegal cable line from the roof of a housing complex. And while the tenant holds my legs, he or she might engage me in a conversation about couples counseling or old dog adoption.
I remember what you are—scab, totem,
juniper on the side of this house. do you make me
kind? would you like to reach between my doors—
lurid as a milksnake?
COMICSMr. ButterchipsAlex Schumacher
Mr. Butterchips takes on gun nuts in Alex Schumacher's latest strip.
I catch coldness here, I hold the glitter. can we agree
to forget this? forget last night with my cocktail, my
caring so much for so little in my hand? today, I awaken
how it loves its own silky skin, goes mad
for the taste of its own salt-blood.
She wished they’d realized this before she’d traded in her elastic-waist pants for less flexible slacks. In hindsight, maybe she shouldn’t have pulled out her harmonica when asked about hobbies. Anyway, at some point during her drunken escapades, this flyer had appeared in her lap.
In case you aren’t aware, pretty much every publication has a list of people they refuse to work with. This is not something that should be made public, though some less than desirables insist it’s only right, and that blacklists themselves are a form of censorship.
Gabriel Ricard talks Oscars, Black Panther and classic noir cinema in the latest edition of Captain Canada's Movie Rodeo!
The village once quiet and ordinary was now stained with blood and it was only 5 p.m. It was going to be a long day, and the good kind of long—the kind that was lengthy in its celebration at the bar, the kind that ended with cheers.
I gasp in utter horror at my freckles/mistake them for unspecific bugs/just ignore the data usage warnings
Carefully I parcel them up,
the shreds and remnants,
the shards, now powerless
of all your seething selves.
Warlords are avaricious; they care only for honey.
Houses the beehives on fire; eggs, larvae – all gone.
Everything about her
in thin layers.
The faint beat of her heart.