Status Updates From Belos Fracassados

“she kneeled on the moss . the water sang in her ears . the fountain rose from the heart of the forest, crystal and green were the tiny orchards of the moss . she drew a wet hand across from her forehead . she longed for a deep brotherhood with the water, she longed for the spring to guarantee the gift she had made of her body, . . “

Put this down for a while, but l’m back.

Blood as a revolution’s lubricant. Need as love.
Lessons learned, at long last. Phrasebook prayers.

F.’s letter, five years later. Nubile nurses. Red plastic ruler. Hissing and shushing.

Put this down for a while, but I’m back.

Blood as a revolution’s lubricant. Need as Love. Lessons learned, at long last. Phrasebook prayers.

F.’s letter, five years later. Nubile nurses. Red plastic ruler. Hissing and shushing.

Finally busting out this birthday bargain from Moe’s, but only for a brief brush: constipation and Catherine Tekakwitha; sedentary scholars, and licentiousness, late F(riends); divorce from Life and husband via elevator shaft; red nail polish and syphilis-spurred polemics.