Tag Archives: sex

prose: temporary vice

27 Dec

Sara shook my hand with a firm grip and apologized for a cold hand.

“Well, it is 20 degrees out?”

“Is it? Really?” She seemed genuinely surprised or faked it well.
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poem: east of where i stand

7 Oct

my brain fills
with scattershot landscapes,
tumble weeds blow dead
across long flat rivers of black asphalt,
trees and shrubs bend from a ceaseless wind,
dust carves veins atop dry clay river bottoms –
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poem: lost in a myth of my own creation

7 Oct

there’s a scar on her back
and I wonder
is that where the magic starts?
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update –

6 Oct

if you are actually reading this and not downloading the adult images i have hidden around this blog, this is an update on the writing-side of jck hnry. there are no links to adult images herein, so if that is your destiny, please move on…for now. Ha!

a recent review of yours truly appears here. it is quite positive and interesting to read, especially from my perspective. even with this now my fifth or sixth book/chap, i am amazed that people take the time to review. it is always a pleasure to discover insight other eyes hold…

george anderson over at bold monkey did a rather lengthy and intriguing review of CRUNKED. there is an interview with the author at the end of the review where i sound completely pompous and a bit drunk. all that is here.

CRUNKED can be purchased at either Small Press Distribution and AMAZON. Click on either to buy. As yet I do not have copies. Not enough cash for a pre-publication buy…soon, maybe.

poem: angels of disrepair

1 Oct

and still the whispers echo
long after the rope’s been cut,
bodies removed,
sinners and saints retired from the town square,
the center of the world,
the center of life,
the very core of it all –

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poem: fields afire

27 Sep

there is no silence at the center
of a garden filled with dead flowers
and falling leaves;
a garden surrounded by armor and brick
and the bones of soldiers gone so long from us now –

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review: Crunked reviewed by David McLean in Feb 2011

14 Sep

review: Crunked reviewed by David McLean in Feb 2011

Note: This is from February 2010 originally at Clockwise Cat. I am not sure what version of Crunked this is based on, but here you go…
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poem: shattered highway

14 Sep

shattered highway

…and I watch a broken down road rumble
beneath my wheels, the desert wind whipping
through my thinning hair,
memories of love lost and battles won
drift through my head,
a dull gray moon lifts effortlessly into a waning sky –
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poem – absolution

13 Sep


just after sunset
driving west
open highway
cool breeze
lavender skies
and a buzzing fly for a companion

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poems – shorties

13 Sep

not into it
a soft breeze blows in across the backyard
every day around 4 pm –
trees bend, swirl and drift lazy across blue velvet skies –
fish boil across the top of the pond –

i find my spot on the back step –
smoke another cigarette –
trace back through the roots of my day
searching for a small fragment to tuck away –

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three poems about a girl named Hannah –

30 Jun

when sleeping means sleep when we sleep together
an incessant knock wakes me at 2 am –
Hannah stands frozen in tears –
I let her in, sit at the edge of a bed,
and hold her –
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poem: alone on a path that leads to the back of my mind

5 Apr

the blinking cursor damns me –
– some days i cannot write
– some days i cannot speak
– some days words have no meaning
and an incredulous sky opens with sighs of sorrow,
consumes me,
swallows me whole without thought or consequence
and i find myself wandering alone
on a path that leads to the back of my mind –
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poem: running away

5 Apr

i keep tripping down this lazy highway
in search of nothing more than the next step
another chapter, another verse, another line
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we sit waiting along the Salton Sea

25 Mar

each day the suns takes away another piece of the Salton Sea –
winds drive in to carry dust through trees and clouds, out across cities that hide million dollar homes –

we sit waiting along the Salton Sea,
for turning tides and skies that always feel gray to slumber long
and forget to remember the last path home –

we watch the horizon and wonder if the world has left us lingering,
left us wanting, praying on our bloodied knees –

lives consumed by petulant tides, red algae blooms, and the silent hum
of geo-thermal power plants in Calipatria –

each summer brings another fish kill, another plague of locust, frog and sadness –

Main Street remains shackled, boarded up, locked down –
new homes lay rotting –
stores sit empty –
we stand outside of the law –

a neighbor cooks meth in a single-wide trailer –
i get a volume discount –
there’s nothing left to do except mark each day
on the calendar with a red X and look for work in
the classifieds from a newspaper two weeks old –

poem: terminal

18 Mar

in a rich part of town.
a town i used to wear my mask:
lived day-to-day
buried in games of keeping up and keeping up –
fucked soccer moms built for revenge –
snorted dope in spider-web corners of mercurial garages –
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