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Mrs Timetable Jan 2020
I propose we call Tuesday
What it really is
Being only two days in
It only exists for tacos
Very little humor
I now pronounce you
Monday Jr.
Cheesy Lunch thoughts.
Masha Yurkevich Oct 2019


It's ok to
fall apart.

Tacos fall apart
and we
still love them.


Right?

Also, I'm just a bit hungry...
Zoe Grace May 2019
I want some good food.
Maybe ice cream? Some Tacos?
I'm always hungry
I just
Want
Some
Food
Please
Zero Nine Apr 2017
CDC was basically closed. Their OLCC application is stuck in processing somewhere between here and wherever. I went to the other one, instead. The taco place out front still isn't open. I have to imagine that a taco shop is going to do pretty well next to a dispensary. It was T2 something. Counter guy too cute, fast talker. It's a good smoke, but I ate a tray of brownies. I wish I could throw up, but if I'm gonna have love handles, I'd rather they be diabetes sweet, rather than the alternative.
PJ Poesy Nov 2015
Goth Child nursed his mother's tattooed *****

Snapped **** with teeth

Then grizzled grin at me and spit up

I poked at my chile relleno

Twisting hot cheesy sludge off prongs

Tour jete with fork finishes in arabesque

Between my own fangs

I spit back scalding ****

Goth Child points, says, "Pawpee, that man is scarewee"

Pawpee turns his tattoo tears to see

Flashes his gleaming grill

I sink in my seat behind sightline of salsa squeeze bottle

Chattering ivories
Life in the neighborhood.
hanaB May 2015
I got lost in those laughters and joy in the album of ours.
I found myself pumped with a big smile
and after, a long sigh.
Coop Lee Nov 2014
no weapons, no drugs.
he had the eyeballs of an aztlan prince.
touches water.
touches hot-grill to meat /repeat/
/replete with cerveza.
                to roil in love of sun said lights, all things lovely.
                to return by city driven lights, lake to shore to shoulder.

[to sleep.]

[to dream.]

dad is on the grill, cookin’ up something scorched.
swill is on the lake, skiin’ up something else.
sweat &
stretching lungs, the sun busting gut.
unseen, bikini pink
& green sauce.
pass the tortillas.

winterous: awake.
ice-fish and stoke the pipes of flash and holy hash.
ice-fish our favorite frozen mass.
we all grow beards,
untrusting of men who wobble blades to their faces on the daily.

spring sprung and spigot. we
return to blushing shores of wet rocks
& girlfriends.
girl bands exploding amps from atop houseboats
in styles of the highly drunk and tameless.
plucked in memory
of the ******* to come before them.

— The End —