Crack the Cord and Drown the Pups in Compassionate Carbonation


Stony charlatans stir indolent hypocrisy in the world,

Shredding the woolly cardigan of civility just for show.

They cast their curses with gummy fingers, and

Civilization follows suit, lambs to slaughter.


Bidding inflated allegiance to the corrupted head,

The workers erect a monument of flashy emerald

As green as their impious souls.


The sourdough caterpillars sleep each night

In a corpulent bed of cocaine fruitcake,

Awaiting the hornet’s next decree.


Safe within their soggy gingerbread houses,

They know pretentious flattery is all that’s saving them

From a trip to the bloodstained altar.







Featured image was found here.

Best Friend

Their bodies danced different melodies. As Snowflake pulled away, Harry moved forward. She wanted to throw herself in a lane of oncoming traffic, while he wanted her down on the floor.

“You said you wanted to play, didn’t you?” Harry asked through ecstatic gasps. The hold he had on her tightened. “Well, now you get exactly what you asked for, girl.”

Snowflake’s doleful pleas filled the aquarium, evoking annoyed and disgusted sighs from the passersby. “God, man; can’t you take that someplace else? There are kids here,” mumbled a man clad in formal attire – nothing similar to what one would expect to see in a public aquarium.

Harry dismissed the offended gentleman, and continued thrusting himself onto the brunette beauty. He usually was not one for public displays of affection, but he felt there was a point to be made: if Snowflake was serious about her requests, she should do as she was told. It was the least she could do; after all, he was the one who fed her and gave her a place to sleep.

At one point, they caught the eye of an unsuspecting young kid who had just come from the bathroom. “What?” Harry yelled. “You ain’t ever seen a guy enforcing his dominance on his bitch?” The little guy stood there utterly confused until his mother called him back to the posse.

With a final lunge, Harry stopped and looked down at the defeated female. The flash of excitement that shone in her dark eyes had been exterminated by the one she trusted the most. She dropped her chin to the tiled floor and whimpered.

“Glad to see you finally understand my frustration, Snowflake,” he said, zipping his trousers. “Now let’s go get that ball you wanted to fetch so badly that you lost it in the otter exhibit.”

The young collie’s copper fur sparkled under the lights of the seahorse display; her happiness had returned along with a swiftly-wagging tail. She would finally get to play fetch with her master.

Barrage of Butterflies


“Can you please help me,” a boy pleads. His freckled face and strawberry blond hair is obscured under a heavy chain. He’s wearing a dirty robe, the one on which little blue dinosaurs and spotted lizards were once printed. It was his favorite robe; Aunt Barb got it for him on his eighth birthday. Now it hangs tattered on his skin, the friendly scaly beasts masked in thick mud, sweat, and urine.

In the child’s beautiful, sparkling eyes one could see a life full of love and elation, of days spent at the beach, flashing a smile with fists deep in sand, and nights curled on the couch watching Sleeping Beauty until he rested at last. But the scars told a different story. They told of sleepless weeks in unforgiving darkness, abandoned in a quarry of revulsion and isolation. They told of unimaginable horror.

Every night, he prays for release from his captor. All he wants is to get back home to bury his puppy, Angel, who was struck by a speeding Corvette. He wants to kiss his momma, promising that he would never think bad thoughts about his baby sister. His stomach rolls, and his tongue aches for a simple drop of water.

The boy’s weakened innocent cries turn to cold whispers. “I just wanna go home,” he begs. “Just wanna…” He cannot make out the words. His own body defies him as he’s plagued with memories of his daddy and barbeques and Christmas presents.

Succumbing to exhaustion and sadness, the boy curls on the ice-licked floor and imagines he’s in his momma’s warm embrace. He imagines he’s sipping from a cold glass of apple cider and eating popcorn, hidden under an enchanted palace of pillows. Sweet honey, gummy bears, and cinnamon breezes occupy his homesick dreams.

Suddenly, the tears and hollow whimpers cease. His chapped, bloody lips form a thin smile, with thick dust and stale air filling his lungs. Color returns to his face as he is met with an old friend.

Together, he and Angel walk out of the basement and disappear into the night.



I walk in sync with the chopping of a helicopter fleet in the horizon, the sound of the blades piercing the dusty, lifeless air echoing my heartbeat. What will it be like when I get there? Will there be a bowl of Mama’s hot soup waiting for me, just like before? And my brother Caleb – would he still be sporting that scruffy beard that we all told him makes him look like a caveman? Questions continue to saturate my mind as I think of how time is the only variable keeping this from being just another afternoon.

A chipper sparrow-lark whizzes past me and darts into the flat, beige sky. I track the bird until it disappears into the dusty atmosphere. The status of the world worries me; after awakening from the emergency cryogenic chamber in the basement of my school, nothing seems to be the same as it had the morning I left for class. Trees that I normally pass on my way back home are naked and black; weeds overtake the cracked road, and there are no vehicles in sight. Surprisingly, the residential centers along the road are still intact and appear lively. There has to be people somewhere, but where?

As I get near my turnoff, a familiar face greets me at the gate. “Galahad!” I shout, wrapping my arms around my dog. “Look at how big you’ve grown!” The last time I saw Galahad, he was only a playful pup. The dog I’m embracing now is anything but – his fur is ragged and clumpy in parts, a long scar occupies his muzzle. His peacock-blue eyes are faded into a cloudy gray. However, despite his dirty appearance, his stomach is plump and thick, indicating he’s been well-fed. His delighted licks wipe the soot off my neck and chin.

Galahad follows close as I finally arrive at a vacant driveway. What’s left of my house is a jagged, busted foundation and a rusted swing set in the backyard. Not even a dilapidated frame or any furniture remain – any evidence that this was once a house has been reduced to dust.

Dust. The idea of it and losing everything I used to love and know to it makes me chuckle, but no amount of laughter can mask the tears welling in my eyes. “Well, Galahad, it looks like it’s just you and me now,” I whisper, dropping my head and turning away from the depressing scene. My cries resonate in the barren wasteland, an unofficial funeral for the reality I used to know.