Krasny Osminog Jerald Fienerbrodt was known as a notoriously eccentric man. An unashamed adulterer and veteran drug user even in his eightieth year, his epicurean caprices were secret only from his wife, who had remained scrupulously sheltered by his side for some forty-eight years. He had learned after his first divorce that it was best to keep his recreational cocaine habit out of his matrimonial bedside drawer and it was this simple but effective strategy that maintained his status as a husband so successfully the second time around. In light of his reputation for queer behaviour, when the police penciled "further investigation necessary" on the paperwork that signed him out of existence, the only one surprised was the late Jerald himself. However, being sworn to secrecy and recently deceased, he was circumstantially prevented from revealing the truth about his unfortunate demise. Any remaining chance of others coming to know the truth was annihilated
morning 2She's unzipped, fanned out face up like a deck of cards, cool bedsheets under her curved corners. She isn't lust, nor greed, nor envy. She is the eighth sin, soft and warm pressed to my skin and pulsing through my spine with hot forgetfulness and chemical release. I found her on the sidewalk, a neon caress in a nocturnal crowd and four nights since, I've curled beside her like a moebius strip in the dusk as she played dot-to-dot across my smooth paralysis.In her presence, my mind convulses into gordian knots, formed from unstrung guitar strings and I am up to my neck in cerebral fluid to prove my worth; but when the time comes and the door latches behind her, angels cry tears of lonely morning coffee and I'm late for work again.