Life raped my mother. I mean it planted a kiss, fucked her silently and ran, though she battled death like a Trojan. Her laugh, wit and bones float in the sky like exhaust; misty black in life but now invisible. During her time on earth I was a coke slut, but today what I’d do for a minute with mom and her red-brown hair. As a daughter, I envision her and breathe- it’s the only way to connect. I learned […]
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“The Female Lenny Bruce”- The Greenwich Village Press
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Dara snuck into my heart through the back door. Cuban and Italian, she was dark like the wrong side of the moon, a devout coke addict who drank a pint of Scotch a night. She catered to my every desire, hugged me like a bear. It’s living hell to love a vampire when you’re a morning person.
Categories: Prose, Uncategorized • Tags: Burlesque, naked performance art, NY Burlesque, NY Press, Performance art
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
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I am afraid to wake up that one spastic morning when the lump in my throat will have spread to the crack of my ass. Roz Abrams is on MTV. She is firm-chested cancer Eye witness death Until sleep releases its gas. I will wish I had shed one more tear When the doctor looks up from my lap And says, “Insurance is an illusion.” I will fantasize about his oral love while he writes my prescription for suffering. The […]
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Married to the typewriter keys, the divorce is bloody as I lie in bed like a suicide pill that won’t go down and can’t throw up. Macy’s won’t let me write. Viacom thinks I cum fruit punch. Hollywood keeps cutting my hair and I look like Juliette Binoche, except too short and sad. Outwardly unartful, painters blow away chalk like they’re kissing between my legs, or sawing at my wrists, or beating my eyes after I shined your jewel and […]
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Life raped my mother. I mean it planted a kiss, fucked her silently and ran, though she battled death like a Trojan. Her laugh, wit and bones float in the sky like exhaust; misty black in life but now invisible. During her time on earth I was a coke slut, but today what I’d do for a minute with mom and her red-brown hair. As a daughter, I envision her and breathe- it’s the only way to connect. I […]
Categories: Uncategorized
Laura Dinnebeil