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Last Call

Barmaids. Fixing their face. One of these jerks could be The One. The Champagne of Bottled Beer. So they say. One of these jerks. One of these days. Rotate. The stools have fresh grease. Creaky with ass. With whispers Beer Loud. The Deal is it on is it on is it on? Their pistols are dicks. Ready like snakes. Ready to strike. Upping the stakes. Tomorrow. There’s a Line-Up. And the hope that no one breaks out in a sweat. These jerks. Point at their chests like squirrels. Their memories of Last Call are just that. First published by Rat’s Ass Review

The Boom Boom Room

There’s A Room In The Back. It’s The One That Prints Jack. The One That’s Front Loaded. The One Sugar Coated. Take The Fork In The Road. Take Your Pain A La Mode. Take Your Cue From Your Gods. Get Wha

On The Edge Of A Field

A line of yellow maples crack Spilling branches on Late autumn wheat. This is the sound of Something Ending. This is the sound of Being Alone. Evening. In Majesty approaches. Listen. Be still. There a

The Time I Was Taken To Psycho

Drive In. Black And Dark. Gear Shift. Stuck In Park. Trees. Choke. Limbs. Poke. We’re All Here But No One’s Woke. Slasher. Use The Carving Knife. Slasher. Plan Your After Life. Mother. You’re The Stab

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