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Explore the depths of human honesty in "Rough Cut Until I Bleed," a collection of poems and prose that delicately balance between the deeply personal and the universally relatable. These heartfelt verses invite you to embark on a journey through the author's truth, discovering your own stories within the pages. With a whimsical seesaw between poignancy and humor, "Rough Cuts Until I Bleed" introduces you to a world where elephants, duckbill platypuses, and cicadas converge with themes of lust and longing, leaving you oscillating between laughter and contemplation. Dive into the intricate mosaic of human experiences and emotions, where every word is a mirror reflecting your own "hmm" moments.
From the Book
That noise beat on my ears. A mad saxophone player filled the room with his insanity. My eyes got all crossed trying to keep up with the digital readout running across the clock's face like a flow of red water. I couldn't stand it anymore. That's when I noticed them.
6 9
The world has secrets
Behind secrets and
Puppets ruled by puppets
You think the game is sixty-nine
But you're a dog, Dawg
Chasing his rainbow tail.
Round and round you go
Until you wake too late.
The catch is twenty-two
Three strikes and you're out.
#
Happy
My manhood rots
in the garden
of cabbage leaves.
Where children once grew
yellow fat drips
and splatters my thighs.
My hips are big as money bags
and heavy with gold
I am suffering.
I am happy.
#
The poem Apocalypse from this book recently appeared on the blog site NEWVERSENEWS.
From the Book
That noise beat on my ears. A mad saxophone player filled the room with his insanity. My eyes got all crossed trying to keep up with the digital readout running across the clock's face like a flow of red water. I couldn't stand it anymore. That's when I noticed them.
6 9
The world has secrets
Behind secrets and
Puppets ruled by puppets
You think the game is sixty-nine
But you're a dog, Dawg
Chasing his rainbow tail.
Round and round you go
Until you wake too late.
The catch is twenty-two
Three strikes and you're out.
#
Happy
My manhood rots
in the garden
of cabbage leaves.
Where children once grew
yellow fat drips
and splatters my thighs.
My hips are big as money bags
and heavy with gold
I am suffering.
I am happy.
#
The poem Apocalypse from this book recently appeared on the blog site NEWVERSENEWS.
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