(Photo by Me) He met her with two coffees and a smile. Made her laugh and blush, hiding her face behind her shawl. She was nervous, he liked that. They got to the entrance of the subway, what are you going to do now? she asked. I got nothing planned, ride the train with you to your work maybe? She paused for a second, then, Okay. As he sat on the train her sleepy head on his shoulder her...
Photo by X.A. Medina (http://lepoet.tumblr.com/) — He sat at the new coffee shop next to the old tattoo parlor. He sipped his coffee and three Chinese entered separately but all forgot to close the door behind them, both ways, for a total of six times. He read the Bolaño book his roommate had given him. After every poem he looked across the park for the old girl. Whose interest in he was...
Burnt Tongues and Cherry Chapstick
Photo by X.A. Medina (http://lepoet.tumblr.com/) —- Basquiat called from the afterlife, he said, paint my child. I responded, But I’m a writer. There was a pause and then, Sorry must have the wrong guy. I said, It’s okay, but what’s it like being dead? It was too late, Basquiat had signed off of Gchat. —- Their boots clicked and echoed off of the wet concrete. They walked to...