seannelson
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My stories
ode to morning
Morning is when the hopeful sun inches over the somber blue mountains, when violins dance in the mind, love stirs in the heart, spirit stirs in the legs, and life seems good...
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- 613 reads
beatnik rebirth
under the bohemian patronage of the full morning moon, rising from unseen ether between the soaring skyscraper legs of the mother cosmopolita, we emerge in masses from the subway orifice
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- 670 reads
God the drunken carpenter
God, like his son, was a carpenter and a drunken one: too fond of water to wine, working loaded when he forged this Earth making mangy lions, horrible deep sea fish, marsupial ducks,
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- 954 reads
big nothing haiku
artists battle wasps for their espresso outside in the thorn garden under bright bill-boards gray men with missing legs beg, unknown yankee dregs New Yorkers await
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- 1690 reads
the angel anarchica
as black stars align she ascends from the cold war ether on riot wings into a decadent age prepared for her like a five-star table complete with swan napkin and free speech salad fork
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- 2078 reads