Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 05/23/22

roach legs were sprouting from the nostrils of my thousand-page novel


Spikenard of Mary excited the hair under her arms


Leaving she offered me a cup of scorched milk


Fixodent and naked blondes in my dead brother’s bureau drawer


840 lumens was as far as I could spit


A giraffe was seen galloping down the street of burning tar

Β©2022 Patrick Sweeney All rights reserved.

Patrick Sweeney

Bedwetter in the germline of pyromaniacs and wild foxes. Constitutionally nervous, ecologically alarmed. Heart half-buried at Stinsford. A life spent dropping imaginary pennies off the Empire State Building.

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