The Worst Ray Succre Borscht sweat pats down the nostrils; the tongue of pre-lunch flinches into teeth and jackets the sense, in a bath of repulsive hunger. The marrow percolates my up-coast outing, my dozenth arrowhead dug from the day and crushed like olives to trickle the vats up slow— the workout center, the beef-maker pad badly hitched to a deli. Pinned in locution like a hideous fruit pit, eldest minutes of bellowing hours turnip-tugged from my ground. I’ve ordered, it has arrived, and here as though by skink-bite, the sweat of many hits me an electrical mud of pungency. It grows hotter quickly, and as I approach downward my meal, fork-handed, soda-headed, trunk-mouthed, even the emerald colored stink in the air is soon to crow for what this Sun, hours, will make of it.

RAY SUCCRE currently lives on the southern Oregon coast with his wife and baby son. He has been published in Aesthetica, Small Spiral Notebook, and Coconut, as well as in numerous others across as many countries. He's also a recent winner of the Adroitly Placed Word award. He tries hard. More information is available by email or by visiting his online journal. Miscellany Home Get the .pdf version || blog us

MEATJOURNAL.COM || ISSN 1549-4454 || VOL 2.2 (Spring/Summer 2007)
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