Don’t Speak

March 26, 2018 AA Moore 0

  A face peeled back, skinned, unwrapped, those bare minted polos. Hearts hacked out and filled with acid, Sucked out like Rolos.   Drenched walls of an Icelandic box, dug deep inside snow drifts. On a parallel planet of frost, their reality shifts.   Disappearing, waning, gone, nothing to touch. read more


Hang the DJ

March 7, 2018 AA Moore 0

Between the black T. Shirt beard scratchers, and the iTunes shufflers, stands the DJ. He’s in the firing line of well-oiled mouths loosened by a couple of tequilas.  The crucial spot to have his nuts grabbed, ears burned. Third-person agony aunt, emotional punch bag. He’s caining the rider beers, there read more