Poetry

“Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.” – Carl Sandburg

Holy Card

U.I.O.G.D.

This week I learned that every other year the Holy Ghost plants a baby seed in a married mom’s tummy. Nine months later a slit opens up underneath across the bottom and the baby slides out.

Sarah Wetzel

My Avarice is

for your cadaverous jaw and thin lips, for your meticulous fingers lighting cigarette after cigarette, for your body bone sleek and for speed