Noah

 

Noad Cover.jpg

A text message at 2:36 AM woke me from a dream about a talking snake who wore a tube sock as pants. In the dim light of my phone I could see the outline of the pile of clothes on my computer chair that looked like a man sitting with his legs crossed. I might have known that his name was Charlie. It’s a common name, ill fit for a man who practices taxidermy and collects rocks from the bottoms of lakes he scuba dives.

 

Charlie tips his hat at me and takes a long drag of his cigarette. Charlie knows, of course, that one shouldn’t smoke lest they risk lung cancer, but Charlie has never been one to care about the time or reason of his death.

 

The talking snake warned me of a great flood that would submerge the city. The steady pattering of rain outside my window reminds me that I never let my cat in last night. I hear the soft mewing of my baby outside. She patiently waits for me to open the front door. I hope she can swim.

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Opera (Opera Pt. 1)

 

Opera Cover

It was a serenade of hipster proportion

that happened to be outside this dingy house

that was two blocks or so from campus

that was packed to the brim with costumed folk

that had been searching endlessly for

that perfect party to end the night with

 

It was one of those kinds of parties

where flirting was limited to the people

who were full of liquid courage

from the community liquor or ecstasy that was scored

from that kid in the back dressed as Gerard Way

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