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honeymoon killaz


town to town.

highly mobile, wholly homicidal, biblically brutal. 
painting the walls in crimson swathes.

wrapping our troubles in thick paper. 
using up favors.


so we greeted the highway.


twenty-five miles out. 
over her shoulder, mariposa rasped, 
"history disappears faster than anyone makes it. 
look around. so many lives. can you not see them? 
they litter the sides of the road."


barnaby smoked and drove. 

"woody guthrie's guitar killed fascists."


town to town.


above, the moon looked down and laughed. 
it wasn't a cruel laugh.



a lethal injection from pasquotank

had known death's affections like a mate.

together, they penned the romance

of the honeymoon killer.

"my friend. thin man.

gentlemen of the blade.

gun molls of the spray and pray

and practiced getaway. arsenic youth.

have i pledged how i love thee?

your eyes, intensities of tiny fires.

i fashion you into a death's head,

which i affix to the prow of my bed."

death's beer smells of gasoline and head lice.

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