May 4-10, 1998: BM Bradley and D. Taylor Singletary

Week of May 4-10, 1998

BM Bradley and D Taylor Singletary

BM Bradley


BM Bradley is living, working and writing in the LA area.  Creator of Brain’s interest include, but are not limited to sex, photography and greasy chili-cheese burgers.

The following work is Copyright © 1998, and owned by BM Bradley and may not be distributed or reprinted in any manner whatver without written permission from the author.

three hot tears

jaw clenching and tightens
like a spring wound
too tight
electricity digs and burns
at the teeth
working up
to tear and scrape at the eye
a twitch and flicker
heat and fire
vision blurred
tightness in the throat
and chest
breath uneasy, panicked
trying to
force cool sweet air
upon raising emotions
in deep slow breaths
finally, slow down, relax
except for three
hot tears
creeping down
tightened cheeks, rock hard jaw
locked teeth
well David Patric
you’ve left me
here alone
thirty years of friendship ends
and all I’ve got to give
three lousy tears
on a drive to Palmdale
to pick up my child

Dancer (check out an online broadside of this piece here )

she told me
all the
she told me what the
other girls do
some cut the string off short
some stuff it up ‘inside’
that’s what she did-
stuff it up ‘inside’
once she had to have
her ‘boyfriend’
find ‘it’ with a flashlight
I asked her what she
thought of the other girls-
“well you know you try not
to look but, well some look
pretty good some don’t”
“mine hangs down, I don’t like it
a real man in a boat “
she went to Hawaii to
‘see’ some guy


in a tiny motel on
Wilcox, surrounded by all of her
clothes, dripping wet
hangin’ everywhere
because she’s a ‘clean freak’
no pictures on the wall
only holes from nails and screws
left behind when
it was time to move on
one bed, two chairs, one desk
one vacuum (red devil)
mostly walking around listening
to a crack pipe
“Are you nervous? I’ll tweak if you
get nervous I’m just listening do you like Madonna?
I’m almost ready you’ll never
guess how old I am
both my parents are Bikers not Angeles or Jokers or anything
but you know Bikers
holding a stuffed rabbit
against tiny firm breast with
dark brown nipples
only setting it down to
‘hit’ the pipe
and listen


she was more of a
child than a woman
full, ripe and fragrant
just the same
she stood in the half dark
on her clothes
slowly, almost cautiously
it would seem to me –
looking at
the floor
with her back to the corner
after she left
I sat in the
same damn corner and
cried for no reason
at all


in the poring rain
I couldn’t tell
she told me she was
from the Philippines
when she got out of
my car
I could see that she had the
ass and legs of a man
“I got it done in
South Carolina, 
6 years ago
in the Philippines they
put a tube in in Germany
they do it the best,
but I couldn’t
afford that
I’m just like a woman”

oh baby

she was a Japanese girl
from Australia
married to a
for her green card
she was so fine
the best thing about her
she didn’t say
“toaster biscuits”
“hey mate”
“down under”


“I’ve seen all your stuff-I’m better than that”
like a hot knife stuck in
my fucking heart
I ate two pounds of
hearsay’s kisses
drove around for two hours
looking at cheap no good
then came home and sat
on the couch
with a frozen brain
I couldn’t take it
apart and put it back in the
no amount of chocolate or
whores could do that
I’ll just have to live with it.


in the summer I like to open the door
and stand in the cool air
I like to look at all the stuff
I buy for my daughter
stuff that I used to eat, but can’t anymore
stuff that my old body doesn’t burn anymore
stuff that can make a child run and play
stuff that can get you up a tree
or flying through the wind on a bicycle
stuff that clogs my heart and sits on my ass and belly
and makes my back hurt
stuff that has me climbing enough steps at the gym
to stand on Mt.Fucking Everest
in the freezer I keep glasses
ice cold frozen glasses for beer, hidden in there with the lima beans
and one Healthy Choice Chicken Picante’ dinner
I can’t drink beer anymore
but damn!
nothing like ice cold Crystal Lite
in a cold glass
but my most favorite part of my trusty fridge
is the door
that’s were all the cards and pictures go
the ones my little girl makes in school
brief moments of time captured by magnets
pieces of a bubbling, laughing childhood
“I love my dad!” and “My dad is special because I love him and he loves me”
and “Happy birthday daddy, I love you”
when I come home late at night
and turn on the light in the kitchen
I remember that someone loves me
all the heart beats cling to the door at eye level
three feet off the floor, from her last visit

D Taylor Singletary


Indeed, this is me and a softer me — a d Taylor Singletary me, hardened to a soft point lately by the insights of Mr Morrissey — the one true love of my life, and as I slip from my soapy hands into my bathroom here in Vista, CA I wish this all well .

The following work is Copyright © 1998, and owned by D Taylor Singletary and may not be distributed or reprinted in any manner whatsover without written permission from the author.

Backbared Angels

She sits alone upon a curb blanketed by her own shadow lying there,
motionless like a demons tail
I ask her “Do you drive?”
She says “I do not drive “
She stands up, brushes off the dirt and an ant from her royal dress
The ant falls to the ground, in meeting of another, says “Did I fall far?”
The other ant responds “Yes, you fell far “
Her hair shines pink in the neon light of the OPEN sign, revealing that indeed it is open
I ask her “Should we go inside?”
She says “No, we should not go inside “
Her hands fall to her side, and continue falling until they have just about fallen off
My eyes drag, following their descent, I mutter “Fallen angels cry like that dont they?”
She stutters, and grabs my eye, “I I dont know how fallen angels cry “
I cant seem to pay enough attention with your breath so long like that,
please wont you stop
So I ask her “Please wont you stop?”
She says “Stop what?”
She sits alone upon a curb again and the blanket has seemed to have lifted
as the sun has rose from ashes
She sits and finally asks me “What do you want?”
I smile like only a virgin could smile “A smile is what I want “
And so she smiles, as I smile and fall backward against the paved road at my rear
She doesnt bother to get up “And you called that a smile?”
I cant respond .

“Seems like the cessation now “

To Exist
Is a privilege and theres only so much Time You must give in order to
receive This:
To Cease to Exist
The grand privilege that longings seems to call for Time Well, it passes
slowly and you’ll forget about it and This Opportunity
Is over in a few minutes and who will you ask WHO Will you ask when it all
comes down to boil This
The so-called temple that is just a piece of slank WHO Will not follow any
direction that I flow towards This
Trapped inside without the Time It needs to accomplish what must be done for This
To Exist
And quite consequently and anticipated in Time
And I’ll await with my candle lit by ears This:
To Cease to Exist
Is divine and as I said Ill wait and there I go repeating myself WHO Stop
asking! I dont know the whispers strike again and I attempt to uncover WHO
Is making all this noise and oops it seems to be me
To exist is to cease to exist In opportunities for the body to temple to the mind Time [asks] WHO [s] This: [?]
Seems like the cessation now

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