American Wool, pre-WWII sheep populations in Kentucky;
basil leaves, pinched mozzarella, salted heirloom tomatoes,
baker’s dozen chocolate glazed donuts covered in sprinkles,
sprayed paint dripping Pollocks onto poked-up black bones,
fried artichoke head flashed out for a brief 80’s pop queen lover;
stored-away family farm animal sterilization tools,
constant knee surgery simulator practice teaches patience;
increments of life like the space between man and canvas;
if you’re my madonna, then I’m your macarena;
“you know, their situation is sooo hatfield and mccoy;”
“how am I doing, well, my alarm clock this morning was
the sound of a rapid-fire nail gun popping into my wall;”
“I was drunker than shit one night man, just so fucked up, I was out kinda near water valley, I was young, driving back from some family event, I drove as fast as I could, I was going well over a hundred miles an hour, I didn’t give a fuck if I killed anyone, and truthfully, I didn’t care if I killed myself, because in all actuality, I wanted to end my life, I was so fucked up ya know, but before I smacked into a guard rail or another vehicle I got pulled over, I’m surprised I stopped, I just insulted that cop up and down, I told the guy I was fucked up and he asked me if I’d be willing to blow a breathalyzer or submit to a sobriety test and I said fuck no dick lips why don’t you blow me, and then he asked me if I wanted to sleep it off in a cell and then be booked in the morning, I told the officer to go fuck his own ass in hell, but then I took a second to think and said sure, ya know because, that did sound fair and reasonable; I learned a lot that night, got a great lawyer, started drinking less, anyways did you know that the cops can’t shine a light in your eye while they’re interrogating you or all the charges against you get dropped? lucky me;”
I’m at the monthly orgy but it’s my first time,
I got invited by a friend I made on the train,
I introduce myself and remove my clothes,
I hang a sign around my naked body, it reads:
“i’m just gunna read & jerk off in the corner”
Little Misses and Mr. C parked expectedly,
smoochin’ sin-like; low breath teasing,
necks bent inward, exhales exchanged
between lip-breaks; bruised blood forms
stars on your chest; your touch treasured
like hillside winds and autumn rainfall;
“i saye yous nd me closer dan cheezon berger”
🚗 C. Morgenrede lives in Tennessee. When he’s not playing pinball he’s typing out prose in his notes app. His most recent project, ABUSER, is available at Pig Roast Publishing.