Book Explorer: senoritaburrito

She was a thousand tears in pieces, like tree-mulch, the way

we stood in the street while sand stung our faces and we looked

into the blank eyes of tall hotels, these steel trees crowding the ocean 

I have done everything to look like a writer. I have my desk. I have liquor, drunk straight and with a savoury reflection.  I have clothes from Goodwill and a handmade hat.  I have a Macbook, no Windows creative enough for me; I have a soundtrack of the Doors and of classical music.  I have dreadlocks but am not a vegetarian; I believe in anarchy, not utopia.

is enough.  got to get away.  I escape

long enough to breathe.  strap on big

feet, clawed feet, a metal Yeti.  diminish

 “Now, first of all I’d like to thank you for signing up for this mission.  I know you don’t know where we’re going, but you’ll soon find out.  Does anyone feel like backing out now?”

“Don’t be a bloody fool, Sterling,” snapped Hans Dreaker, a red-headed man in his late twenties wearing black spectacles and baggy grey sweater his mother had knitted him.  He leaned lankily back into his seat.

           Oh, my beauty, my angel with your hair like fire and your skin of cream, I want to drown myself in you, in your eyes, so wide and round and the way you whimper makes me crazy.  At last you’re mine, all mine.  I know you love me too by the way you are breathing--gasping. You play the game of trying to get away but your movements just make me lose myself in you.

I must go now--

my blood is running like wine from the lines

I’ve seen in the mirror of my mind. 

“There.” Dreaker screwed the panel back in, wiped his hands, and turned to Sterling.  “She’s installed and ready to go.  Bit of an outdated model, but I did a few upgrades and the hardware’s solid. Ready to turn her on?” 

Sterling adjusted her hat. Today it was a red Turkish fez in the old Earth style. 

Nicole Sterling  leaned back on the settee carefully angled in the shade of the veranda to provide the best view possible of the two sweating men in her yard.

They were digging up her azaleas.  More specifically, they were destroying her azaleas in an attempt to find the body allegedly rotting some six feet underneath them.  

Not meant to be understood 

but felt & feared in the dark

Us are the ones of fire & of

ash, fear the face of the faceless hood

 In the backseat of a Jeep, at night.  Road lines 

tick, blur past the window.  I’m still--

your words glue me into immobility.