Bluff UT Postcard

Garbled thoracic exploration bungled hardly with any fiberglass resin ironically, outside the mainstream’s inchoate whine, slapping children, slapping the wall, documented instances of rubiate scapular self-absorption and brittle murder, erasures of tiny photochemical vocalisms, some girl might save you, tell you what to do—or not—“Hi, I’m calling tonight, just because of the canker in the rose?” The tanker’s shadow, crows.

Mustang Ranch Postcard (Second-hand Shop)

Derivatives of oil spill rip-off wrapped in duct tape, electronic lightning along Highway 15 out of Vegas on dark desert nights, tubular choreographed liver-replacement home insurance, bowdlerized emotive screens enacted upon one’s features, grievous, sighing and hissing all the way losing all the air out of the edges of the horizon. They sold the gasoline and you bought some with the lightning flashing across the muddy black sky over the lava rocks. Suddenly old news!