Wednesday, July 25, 2012


Arizona holds hellish memories of scornful lovers. Rock and Roll clubs, although they no longer stink of cigarette smoke (with the fascists and all), remind me of the search for a redemption that never came. Churches, too, with their shiny statues. Your architecture means nothing to me now. It is as useless as dying cacti. Time to take myself to the river, where my dreams flow freely, because they are withering under this desert sun.

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

The Creeping Eyes of Azrael

I notice the creeping eyes of Azrael lurking behind me, beaming briefly among the darkness of alley ways and black crevices, waiting to pounce. He is angry. He once felt so privileged as I chased him until that day, standing side by side, he opened his arms for an embrace and I (in haste) refused his comfort, his friendship. I bypassed him and he has followed me since. I sometimes feel him slither into bed with me, only to renege upon hearing my shouts and screams BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD. And yet he rarely approaches me any more. I usually ignore him, sobbing, weeping, begging for my embrace. No! But On Occasion I notice the creeping eyes of Azrael lurking behind me.