May 2011
1 post
March 2011
1 post
February 2011
1 post
January 2011
1 post
March 2009
15 posts
To Be, or Not.
My Bitches and Nigga-g’s. I reference me, not thee. With a joke: What do you get when a WASP hits a bar and says hey there bitch, get my drink!? …The irrevocable schmuck of the bar. Now, when a female walks in with her pack of bitches and black widow hoe’s, they have earned rights to their goldin embroidered Satin Bombers and name; by path. One morsel other’s tend to take, and bash, poke...
The Pineapple.
Her namesake bestowed the secret: Twist the sharp spiny top. Peel lowest blades. Screw it into dampened earth. Wait.
1,095 days pass. Blades grow long and then a sprout, small—like a prickly pear.
The symbol of hospitality in Hawaii. Pilar excitedly slides glass upon her patio garden.
The fruit’s vanished.
“She plants a secret Pineapple, or three
Orchards, to replace the tiny garden.”
– p
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Caring.
She remembers when others’d tried to save her—how pathetic the distant stabs at reformation. She recollects living by her own vice and virtue. She remembers consequence: when it came, she wished someone had warned her, had spoken truth—rather than pretentious hypocrisy. Then, she gave it a try.
Still paying for her efforts, She’s still.
