Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

white shoulders

to him
every hole
in a woman’s body
is an invitation to violence

ears are for filling with bile
the mouth is for gagging
the tongue will scream until it is cut out

lips for splitting with fists

the sex organ and anus
meant only for acts of desecration
in the temple

the stench of his sickness
mixing with old lady perfume
filling your nose

as he guts you

his final act
waxing romantic
about telling his mother
“I hope you get cancer of the eyes”

as your bride of frankenstein flesh dies

left to rot in the square
for all the pitch fork and torch bearing
townspeople to behold

yet he is overjoyed
with his trophies left behind
some red nail polish
a few lipsticks
and our clothing
hanging carcasses
in his meat locker closet
as he made sure all of us wore
his perfect dress size

poetry Short Stories Uncategorized

tuesdays at 4th & race tower

i wasn’t looking for him

that fateful day in may

when we shared an elevator

in the 4th & race tower


i had business going up

but the look in his eyes

told me he was thinking of a merger

as he was going down


we fell immediately


he was more f. lee bailey

than atticus finch

as we sat side by side

corner booth clandestine

in the federal reserve bar


skyline glistening

him whispering

meticulously explaining his intentions

to remove my clothes as we sat there

ice dripping from our manhattans



his fingers traced my cleavage with desire

such well-tailored

justifications we both wore

as we disregarded

his wife

my husband

and the groceries in the car


so many pairs of new heels

bottles of perfume

and panties purchased

in his honor


hiding hotel keys and receipts

within our comfortable suburban ruts

a trail of miniature shampoos

and complimentary soaps

left behind in our quiet footsteps


we burned beautifully

as we used each other for warmth

for the heat of fire

sometimes we would stroll through bromwells pretending

one day we would share a hearth


even jimmy the bellman was

gladly complicit

winking and smiling

passing messages back and forth in the art deco lobby

of our grand love affair


how careful we were


so many afternoons we rose



to the 14th floor

passion torn open with desperate kisses

atop a mahogany desk


before retreating to wayward text messages

and running errands that didn’t need running

to sneek in a phone call


these delicious tuesdays

were not enough

to sustain us


how we suffered for each other


until the rainy afternoon

i drove into the city

to surprise him for lunch

on the wrong day

and saw his face under the portico

buried in the hair of the wednesday blonde


i laughed aloud at the instant karma

and the thought of being the tuesday brunette


as he was

my tuesday bald guy