Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
Michigan Boy 68 It’s fun to be a narcissistic alcoholic until the cleaver comes down. You’ll know this soon, even harder than you knew it before. Your voice on the phone, wasted before 2 PM. I had to decide between Continue reading Michigan Boy 68 & Faker by Leah Mueller
GETTING EVEN Nine years old, a girl different from the others, too thoughtful, always reading and using words no one understood, I was chased home from school every day by a jeering boy named Sean, who would beat me in Continue reading Getting Even by Leah Mueller
Waiting For Resurrection The Grande Ballroom in Detroit dispensed music and sin seven days a week for six years, until it ran out of money. Even Ted Nugent sounded cogent while describing his love for the place. Alice Cooper, the Continue reading Waiting For Resurrection by Leah Mueller
TERMINAL MOTEL Terminal Motel: garish orange neon, missing several letters blinks its welcome to two hitchhikers thirty miles east of Laredo. He clutches a battered guitar case, she hoists a backpack filled with torn sundresses. They haven’t fought yet, but Continue reading Terminal Motel & 2 other new poems by Leah Mueller
GOOGLING “VINTAGE SEX” Vintage sex is like modern sex, only black and white, with no filter. People enjoy threesomes and anal stimulation. Women with enormous, unenhanced breasts give blowjobs to eager gentlemen. Stylish plaid couches offer succor to sexually charged Continue reading GOOGLING “VINTAGE SEX” by Leah Mueller
OPEN LETTER TO MY VALUED CUSTOMERS My Esteemed Air BnB Guest: This is not a goddamned luxury hotel. I’m not going to bring you a pony or a box of quilted Kleenex. Nor will I appear in my pajamas Continue reading Six poems by Leah Mueller