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Quarry

from stippling by stippling

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My headaches don’t get better. Out your mouth and into my ear. These things, they don’t get better. I can’t seem to avoid shifting pens. Old bicycle, my burning hand. I need the breakneck speed of an antelope quarrier. Old bicycle, my burning field. I want to be the last one here. My dad herds cattle but no deer. So why were antlers trapped in the burgundy picket fence? I fight my battles with no beer. You and I, the last ones here. Multiple deer when you counter-steer; a curse that i can’t shed. I cannot adhere to the everclear; the drinking swells my head.

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from stippling, released March 25, 2016

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Funeral Sounds Houston, Texas

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