Category Archives: fiction

Lightbulb, Wagon.

I.
a lightbulb lit
burned dimly from the shed ceiling
flickering and littering glimmer
barely penetrating through a crowd of gloom
how the static obfuscated our surroundings
these foibles knit us
but sometimes they betray us

II.
just a lone wagon
with a crooked wheel
rolling on the freeway
up and down a roller coaster
hope to find the way
back to  her owner

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Hounded

you were that blessed sacrament
invading far across the land
into the woods where the birds sleep
how they peck with their beaks
draw out the worm
but it escapes their grasp
burying deep into the roots of the earth
all words were lost
you brought yourself out
five feet tall
legs stretched full
feet a bit cold
cozying up to the fire
i was a crier
tap your finger when you’re nervous
tell me in morse of your love
that your blood will never depart my veins
and my ancestors will harmonize and dance
according to the rhythm that you’ve set
and my newborn sleeping in my swarthy arms
wishing he would never grow up
all seen in the fire
a single ember ascended
and burnt to the ground
i have
hounded you
and felt the textures of your edges

ingesting you

all my adult life

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Jesse Pinkman

You won’t think much of me

Code name: Cap’n Cook

Meth user

Manufacturer

And dealer

Of Chili P meth

Now partner of Heisenberg

Crass,

Low-life,

wanksta,

nobody

Drug addict

Insomniac

Born September 14, 1984

an upper middle-class family

Albuquerque

“Apply yourself” on the header of a flunked paper

From Mr. White my chemistry teacher

Dropped out of Wynne High School

failing to adhere to the rules

Lectures and classes were a snooze fest

Failed almost every test

Thrown out by my parents

From the litanies of lies

Rooted from my drug use and abuse

Outclassed and outshined

By Jake my younger bro

A shelf full of academic accolades

You wouldn’t know that I

Have a raving imagination

An artistic bent

A buried penchant

For eccentric superhero drawing

And a knack for woodworking

I once poured passion

into building a box

of Peruvian walnut wood

with inlaid zebra-wood

Fitted with pegs, no screws

Sanded it “smooth as glass”

But traded it for an ounce of weed

You wouldn’t know that

After being kicked out from my home

I moved in with my sick Aunt Ginny

And took care of her until she died from lung cancer

But I was kicked out of that home as well by my parents

So I took on the itinerant life-style of couch surfing

Moving from place to place

Sometimes staying the night in a cold RV

My only “family” was the guys from my high school garage band

Found that cooking meth was the only way of “getting by”

Because that was the only thing he was really “good at”

You wouldn’t know that

After overdosing heroine with my girlfriend in my bedroom

She began asphyxiating on her own vomit

And died while I slept

You wouldn’t know that Walter White my own high school teacher

Got me back into meth cooking

Made me murder

Made me steal

Witnessed multiple murders

Becoming enslaved to the cycle

So am I the villain?

Or the victim?

Or am I just Jesse Pinkman

A homeless fool

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