Author: Fatesjoke

Sometimes I fear that the abstract I write will become my reality. That the words I put down will become my life.

see the world in monochrome- bas relief snow on tree boughs capping mountain tops starlight reflected in crystal lending depth to the darkness

As the miles passed underneath, as time passed all around and a million moments were born, she never forgot her lover’s lips as they caressed her own, as they touched her flesh. Never again was she to feel their passage, or see tears falling to the earth in that memory of the moment, her lips …

I want to meet a younger me, pass me in a crowd maybe, or see me across a busy street. Young me, watching the people and cars passing by, distracted by a honking horn, eyes squinting in the bright sun. I want to yell, “hello” to me, but stop, because hello isn’t really what I …

He jumps. First, a jack knife, then, he curls into a ball, like an infant in the womb. He closes his eyes, and finds calm. The wind reminds him… Screaming to god. Terror fills him. He knows he is done. Asking for salvation and forgiveness. Begging to take it all back.

For every sad, solitary shoe that I see scuffed and faded, slowly breaking down on the side of the road, I know there is a story of something left unfinished, of things left unsaid I want to travel the streets to collect these shoes so that I might feel the impressions of distant feet and …

Chivalry isn’t dead. It’s having a lighter when a pretty woman needs one.

As it appears in the 2012 American River Review You silver-tongue drunk serving your self-    loathing like an aphrodisiac Spreading women’s legs to expose weathered cunts Claiming Godhood       and death          laughing at          your          and our impotence until       the fires burn out Your painted pictures of the Basin       as paradise       fuck       with my          ability to write …

She walks,   legs unsure as her lover awaits. Eager and nervous   her heart beats double, hands shaking as they   slide down the wooden banister. Her anticipation turns to arousal   as she nears the landing, blood gorges her sex as   moisture slips down her thighs. The moment is soon to come   as she takes the last …

Eighteen months, Eighteen months and five days to be exact, since she left him. His heart broken, not by her hand, but by his own. With no desire to care or connect with her on the levels she needed him most. All that time he has tasted her on the back of his throat, the …