Evening sea washed aboard a tired man and his sword. I didn't ask his name. He didn't ask the same. He just stared blank at me then fell back to the sea.
Evening Sea
Reply
Tag Archives: fictional
Buried Under the Rose Bush
We never mastered houseplants. Above and beyond, but a foot to the left. A green thumb was never our best asset. If you didn't shoot, the leaves would be green. The potted plants thrived on the terrace: In the house they just repeatedly cried uncle, Their roots wiggling like an old b-movie. Do all new killers go blank in the stare? Gardening was worse than getting an instrument: Another substandard, low average hobby Intended to expand the pointless talking points. Maybe your urge is due to seasonal pollen? The effort level of the cactus was minimal. Yet in a humidity it was still kindling to burn. Should never have made them my central focus. The hardware store had a shovel clearance. I have to straighten literally anything out So I don't pace 'til the hour of judgement! You think I could pretend I wasn't here and hide? If you go down, will you bargain for my pardon?
Gunpowder and Whiskey
A crystalized lowball glass sways; Jigging the rocks around the whiskey. Holding the glass is an aged hand, Belonging to an aged man Just threatening to tell a story. The bar listens with tense ears And choked breaths. "She was my first wife; June, beautiful, bewitching, bodacious; Too much so at times. She wore her hair pinned At the crook of her neck With a single silver barrette. It softened her harsh features Just a little you see. I came home one day To discover her on the floor, Deceased, With a single silver barrette Plunged deep in her eye socket. But nobody knew a damned thing!" The lowball swayed mores And the tavern slouches listened on. "Next there was my second wife, Anna-Marie. She was a pious woman, And her slight figure would pray Before performing any activity And i mean any, before the Lord. She tied the waist of her dress With a bright green ribbon; it was so tiny that waist of hers. Shame I found the ribbon Around that pretty porcelain neck. And for some reason, Everyone thought nothing of it!" The lowball was empty. Once the bartender topped it up The man continued. "Finally there is my beloved Jessie. Far too pretty and young Especially for this old ruffian, But she would ignite the fire To warm any man's soul. Now she's still alive. But that there stiff That got my gun going He's the bastard Snatched her from me. And with God as my witness, She remains my wife, So she belongs to me." And with one long final sip, He left the bar without his gun; High off of gunpowder and whiskey.
A Dragon Saved Me
Before the monster could harm me Great jaws rose from the depths And swallowed him whole. I peaked through the gaps in my fingers But I didn't scream, I wasn't scared, For the dragon had eaten my predator.
Buying Happiness in Room 208
The cheap cotton shirt Rubbed on his plump neck As he sat on the edge of the bed Watching her adjust her cheap polyester bustier. They’d discussed pricing. He’d already paid half. He was nervous, Hesitant, Didn’t think he could So she cut him slack. She pursed her lips And tugged at his zipper. When she was bobbing her head He was positioned staring at the ceiling Unable to sit. Before long his face, Once a grimace, Glowed from completion. Slipping out another twenty, He passed her a tissue and left.
The Poet Armistead 