In the mirrors of the many judgments, my hands are the color of blood. I sometimes fancy myself an evil which exists to oppose other evils; and on that great Day of which the prophets speak but in which they do not truly believe, on the day the world is utterly cleansed of evil, then I too will go down into darkness, swallowing curses. Until then, I will not wash my hands nor let them hang useless.

Duke was already sitting in the passenger seat, waiting for her. She got in and started the car. Duke busted into a Slim Jim of his own. __ou hairy toad fucker. That stuff__ nasty. Your toilet must be like a nuclear reactor._ Dove turned on her windshield wipers as a light mist seemed to fracture the glass. ____ sorry, Whore Basket. I couldn__ hear you over the noise of you crapping your pants!_ Duke took another huge bite and chewed the waxy meat like gum. __his stuff is off the charts. I could eat vats of it.

It is anticipation and recollection that fill the heart__ever the sensation of the moment.

I wanted us to have an adventure. Because I love that crap. Because I'm not whatever-her-name-is. I don't think it's oh so hard to walk four miles in the snow. I want that. I love that.

Writing should beguile us, not just take us from A to B to Zzzzz

5.57am and I__ finishing the last poem to the taste of the last cigarette. Smoke in my lungs, poetry on the paper. Inhale, exhale, it doesn__ get much easier.