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Posted by Wordmachinist on April 11, 2015 at 7:20 PM Comments comments (3)

Stone ground
ashen beneath Father's biting-
  teeth, yellowed gnash

in the gash scar seam split
innocence not blood spills forth
 dry as decaying wind

friend walks, back turned
spurned by incessant voices; bile
  gone forever save memory

She likes me, lips soft
brushing back veneer of hatestain
  and I abstain, for awhile

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Damned for all of time

Posted by Wordmachinist on March 28, 2015 at 3:25 PM Comments comments (7)

Rocks in my words break off and crumble
where the tide polishes them
into luscious hues
and I wait
  with the empty wind
  and troubled mind
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Icebox Repository

Posted by Wordmachinist on January 4, 2014 at 7:35 PM Comments comments (2)

It's twenty below
stagnant air blows almost mechanically
numbing my face
biting my ears
a thick, stale fog ...
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Presumption by Tower Light

Posted by Wordmachinist on January 1, 2014 at 7:30 PM Comments comments (3)
Delving into the vastness I stumble
as the rumble of thunder dashes all hopes 
against the rocks in my whiskey
and the sky is black again
and I await her kiss
the only lips
that ever mattered.
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She's so cold

Posted by Wordmachinist on February 4, 2013 at 4:20 PM Comments comments (2)

Cracked that shell

releasing blood embryonic

gin and tonic for breakfast

and I rested.

Crumpled pack Lucky Strike

under the wheel

of my motorbike

and Julianna laid out

on Mike's couch.

Saliva silk from mouth to cushion,

coffee black just the thing

a meager string of compassion

passive detection.


I caught my reflection

in the glass cave of the microwave

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Round Belly Buttercup

Posted by Wordmachinist on January 25, 2013 at 10:35 PM Comments comments (6)




Chewed bar rusty nail

black and white no avail.

Whiptides whispers wind


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Tilt-a-whirl me, baby

Posted by Wordmachinist on January 9, 2011 at 3:07 PM Comments comments (7)

Tilt-a-whirl me, baby 

be the girl who said maybe
this fool 

deserves another


one last dance now baby

let's ...

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Posted by Wordmachinist on December 23, 2010 at 11:01 PM Comments comments (4)




There wasn't any room

in the station wagon

for a Christmas tree.

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Ashburg '97

Posted by Wordmachinist on September 24, 2010 at 7:26 PM Comments comments (1)

Ashburg '97

Greenjeans and Pancho Mulligan

sat kitty cat fat on the front steps of Pop's candy store 

and I listened to Mungo Jerry in my battered...

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Posted by Wordmachinist on August 28, 2010 at 8:49 PM Comments comments (7)
I sat on the porch with my hound dog
and my thoughts went around and around
'bout the secret that I buried deep
in the cold black devil ground.
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