Cartoons.

I’ve always enjoyed drawing little cartoon characters, and putting them in absurd situations. The idea of blending and contrasting the sublime with the mundane is one that tickles me, as we are surrounded by amazing things every day, yet we are constantly fighting boredom and dissatisfaction.

A Prayer for the Old, Mendicant Wretch

She’s sat here for a hundred years, here, at this bar. Before it was even built, before the old jukebox was even installed, she was here winking at Johns, and Jims, and asking their story. Asking them to buy her a round. Since before time began, she’s been here. Many men have known her love,

Imagining a Life with Her

She tells me she wants to be a baker, that it’s been her dream since she was young. I taste the cakes she’s prepared and I’ll admit – she is good. Her dream is to open a shop and delight the city’s sweet-seekers. I taste my new acquaintance’s sugary confection and imagine a life with

I Hear You, My Darling

You stand there, doddling like a child in the corner, the baby blues flickering on your baby face. You mischievous kitten. I’ve figured you out. You’re a full woman in the mere guise of a child. Your stumped limbs, plumped with near-distant infant fat belies your true nature, rich with amorous stirs, which initially make me

Greasy Spoon Day-Dreaming

In a diner on the side of the highway my shaking hand pours coffee, flips burgers as my cigarette takes orders at the bar. We have hot soup-du-jour, burgers, and eggs for the hitchers, truckers, and farmers who dust themselves by the door and chat about the weather. Doris DeLynn, with her big hair, and

Rust

if my hands were the limbs of my mind I would understand women if my tongue could speak the words and emotion lapped from your cunt then I would know you inside out if you could hold my cock like something more than a toy maybe we could be happy perhaps if we try we

Last Call’s Final, Parting Gut-punch

the mirror behind the bottles behind the bar offer a view of your girl’s face as she endures your embrace and keeps an eye on me, waiting for a time when he will die of exhaustion, or shame, or by her hand and we can be together toss your hair, dance for me care not

Sensations of Copulation

sex is happening beside me, inside my mind a couple sit, myself beside her like an impromptu menage she rubs her dress straight on the surface of her long legs with pointed hands and painted nails she laughs with her partner carelessly tossing her hair behind her which brushes my shoulder and she excuses herself

The Artist’s Winter

dust covers every key on the piano spiders have taken over the easel no one creates here anymore rain pattering window’s glass even on a sunny day the doors stay closed no one comes to knock or call newspapers stacked outside the door recall how long it has been thus a cat wanders this floor’s

Broodwood

Part One. Now’s when you tell me why you killed me, the man says from his resting place, slumped and halved and bleeding against the wall of the cabin. The walls and floors and roof are cedar, and they smell fragrant in the summertime, but in the winter they smell like the bitter, indifferent cold