The houses on his street were burdened with the beauty of morning dew and its troublesome legality. The beast that had leapt station to station throughout his bedroom—which for that night had nullified the safe instinct of darkness, shriveled its mouth, dying in a sequence of cataclysmic light which were all the butchered prayers said previously. Theraphel lay lugubriously in the drone, for he was charged with the healing curse of anti-immunity to be a conduit for the melody

The “Alt-Right” ended the second Elena Velez unfollowed me, an event I took in my stride due to my ability to slow my heart rate down to such a low number that I am able to have surgery performed on me without the aid of anesthetic (a skill Marlon Brando taught me after I sucked his wooden cock). Now, if I told you I put Pariah the Doll in Man’s World Magazine, I’d allow you an 8-second head start before I tried to kill you. Anyone who emails me about this poem WILL hear from

I will never be your veteran If I held you in my arms 10,000 Vietnams Would ambush your body