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Saxophone Heaven

Sidemen crouch in stairwells.

Waiting to make their move.

Microphones hiss.

Like snakes on the take.

Parker crushes his smoke and

Raises the Horn.

This is a Gig Baby and the liquor is Top Shelf.

Remember that time when he played the Grafton?

It was plastic but his reeds were Ricos shaved pussy thin and he blew us all away.

Those were the years of the Arm and the Needle.

When the lights were low and it was all Chalameau and any

God would drop their drawers for a taste of that

Junk Dope Smack Shit.

They are Gentle and Kind and sleep between sets like infants.

First published by The Rye Whiskey Review

A Foretaste Of The Feast To Come

I Pledge Allegiance. To Gross Malfeasance. To Dissolution. Of Constitution. Dictator. Darth Vader. Sure Do Miss Ruth Bader. (Sure Do Wish She’d Left Us Later) Make Your Plans If Your Trans. If Your Br

Speed Dating At The Kama Sutra Rest Home And Bar

Yoga Class. Tights. Ass. Glad We Got Our Senior Pass. (Glad We Brought Some Extra Cash) Namaste You Stunning Thing. Let Me See Your Luscious Bling. Let Me Be Your Silver Fox. Your Downward Dog’s A Par

Attic

Cold. Rotted Planks. Flanked By Piles Of Toys Armed With Dolls. Dead Eyes Smiling. Showing Teeth. Not Showing. What Lies Beneath. Sweat. Pulse. Sharp Smell Of Fear. The Dark Winter Night. The Rope Whe

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