Tag Archive: writing


A dimly lit Taco Bell.  ESTELLE sways to the counter.

 

ESTELLE
(wig askew)

Make mine a double.

 

PEPE points to a sign.

 

PEPE
Like to try our new meat lover’s taco?

 

ESTELLE
Don’t tempt me, honey child!

 

PEPE

Miss, you’re getting lipstick on my poncho.

 

CURTAIN

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We interrupt this burrito

We interrupt this burrito

to bring you a chicken with no ulterior motive

luxuriating in a ravine where the leftover Panda

rots in the sunset.

When a headless mole makes the effort,

sets up a marmoset playground with fabricated logs

and collects porcelain bras from exotic countries,

the discriminating Teutophile adjusts his vest and

combs his mustache: incommensurable blocks of cheese,

floating above the intersection, surprisingly petrified,

make their own plans when day care is condemned.

Just as Cousin Rollo failed with his omelet,

and raised a race of rats that developed fears of seedlings,

Maxine will tear apart each taquito, shred by shred,

until she has conquered her final cuisine.

When you leave Sears at midnight

Turn off the lights for the mongoose

And luxuriate in a papaya tea

The gypsy woman with the eyeliner

Will wait in the boxcar

Undeterred by sheriffs

And dental assistants

Where the slides of her youth betrayed a razor

A man with rollerblade sides

Who took too long to appreciate her gum

These are the voyages of a girl who takes trips

Where the beaches are less photogenic

Than the steel folds of your lost hometown

And the desiccated potatoes of Mrs. Lindstrom

Who knew more about driveways than you ever will.

Plumber Poem

She imitated a successful plumber,

knocking on doors with no reason,

replacing arachnids for the saddest girls

and knocking back orange mimosas on the pine-edged porch

after a hard day of washers.

Eventually she enrolled everyone in her ranch dip diet

showing them how to twirl the cylindrical vegetables

and laughing at the simple acceptance of their faces.

It was only when she took off the olive garments

and confronted the same refrigerator as always

that the parades and the banners took on the same bad aftertaste,

the metallic knowledge of the underwhelmed.

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The Invisible Mummy dragged his bandaged feet across miles of bleak desert before finally sighting a place to assuage his raging hunger: a vulnerable, isolated Del Taco.

The Invisible Mummy grunted in dry, thirst-roughened satisfaction. At the lonesome taco outlet he would satisfy both his cravings for food and creating mayhem at poorly guarded places of business.

Continued:

 

The Invisible Mummy Goes to Lunch

I Was a Teenage Ghost Hunter II – Now available for Kindle!
 
Devin has to deal with a creepy séance, a meeting with a forest phantom and a haunted Victorian lantern before he can get to the bottom of the strange circumstances around the Holster haunting.
I Was a TGH II wattpad

My new reality show, American Sex Laundry, premieres on the Detergent Channel next month and pre-fans checking out the trailer on social media are already asking, “How the hell did you get your own reality show?”…sexy laundromat

American Sex Laundry

Langston grimly watched the sad-looking clowns go through their routines. The dire moon, with its grey valleys and thin ponds of aquamarine goo, had enough difficulties, the inhabitants eking out an existence from mined stones and subsisting on common dehydrated fruits and flat slabs of compressed meat simulations, without being reminded of the drearier side of life by downbeat performances.

Moon Clown:

Continued: The Clowns of the Moon

When you can’t live up to your license plate

and your taco’s the color of burnt sponge,

your subscription to Beard Man’s expired,

and stray women in Kansas unfriend you

the empty Cheeto bag holds no response,

the deflated roadside doughnut gapes in vain,

no two red vagrants lean at the same stance

and small mammals expose drab rearward views,

the state is not the low road that you know

but another with less yellow and more stone

exposing legless fish to winter sun

and flattening viable cops to crumbs.

And then    it was ten-fifty-seven

When her man stumbled through the door

Repeating the paper towel, recasting the ashtrays and counting all the daughters.

“Is it for the lack of a moon that you followed me

where the parked cars… Wait, is that the latest issue of American Male?”

 

But it was her lost moon,

the toothpaste on the cabinet and the

discount beer that splayed around.

 

He wasn’t the only prone guy she’d found,

Only the latest.  With a shirt to match his intelligence

And that old rabbit trick that no one enjoyed.

 

“Don’t brush that mustache.”  She threw her bottle on the floor.

“I like them Western.”