Writings by: Jason B. Crawford

There is no god for the gay unfortunates The abomination stuffed in the black dress, chosen because the frills hug everything a father could not or chose not to Fathers burdened with being the talk of the holiday party Blessed with the son carrying a lisp To be the hollow…

to the man who told me he was tired of hearing about Strange Fruit   watch them hang // blood oranges // ripened from the inside out // swollen from the intake of rain // juicy // best picked when dead // sliced from the tree // cut open //watch…