Crumbling Asphalt

My libido is a cluster of seaweed caught between mechanical halves.

Easter Chant

Dedicated to Seth “Peg-Leg” Wedge. Egg. Bunny. Egg. Bunny. Egg. Bunny. Egg. Bunny. Yolk! Broken yoke no joke slowpoke, go soak poultry ova for faux-holy folk! Egg. Bunny. Egg. Bunny. Egg. Bunny. Egg. Shell! Come out (egg bunny) Come out (egg bunny blood oh god) wherever you (eggbunnybloodrunsredoneggrunnybunny no) ARE! EGG. BUNNY. EGG. BUNNY. Dashed…
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The Total Package

She was straightforward and told me I had “zero charisma.” She didn’t mince words. She insisted—with venomous emphasis—that I was boring and had nothing of value to offer. She compared me to a dead mime and because she refused to explain the analogy, I had no rebuttal. She pulled no punches, my Lois. Really gave…
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There is a Can of Red Paint

in the kitchen. The can of red paint is on the floor. In the middle of the kitchen. The can is sealed shut. It is essentially a brand-new can. Full, anyway. The floor of the kitchen is covered with old floating linoleum. It is patterned, and cheap. The pattern is composed of blue and green…
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“These tales are visionary in a bottom-of-the-barrel pornographic way….” –Vickie T. Split, Abraxas Headache
“Kirton’s stories eke out feelings akin to warm red gelatin….” –Bruce Cloverleaf, Buff Spill Reviews
“These stories really hit you over the head with subtlety....” –Paul Gonk, Fossilized Prose Agenda
“I was relieved to read them….” –Garth Umberger III, Shoe Leather Surprise