Washed Slate
Classes wouldn’t be back in session until early January, so Alice had a little time to go up north for a visit. She hadn’t seen them since summertime. That’d been a nice, long weekend lounging with her feet up and nothing of much importance in her head. It was a Read more
Spinners’ Sonnet
Strange the writer terrified of spiders whose string game sorcery dazzles all prey. Hidden, shadowed, forever outsiders. Dear fellow scribblers, isn’t this our way? Spiders sip crimson blood. We drink black ink spinning songs of joy and devastation. Mysteries of existence on Earth’s brink, each fiction takes careful calculation. Destiny’s Read more
I thought I would teach you
It’s not easy to admit that they fell a few more millimeters. That’s what I think when I get out of the shower and face my entire body. I don’t accept counting in centimeters as long as that mirror is mine. As if that would reverse or delay this accursed Read more
MOI
Who is MOI? Me, Only, and I Born from icky lives and pounding bassoons Feathered with lights and crawling beauties Raped by hierarchy filled with droughts and wide crowns Crafted into idols throughout unmarked time and shapeless space Bathed in oceans of rage and melting sand Cured by infinite memes Read more
Close to Home
Today is a good day to die. The neighbor’s mother is dying next door, fifty feet from us. She has been dying for some days. The son arrived yesterday, though, from Ohio, all red-eyed, sleep deprived, and unshaven, and I happened to be collecting the mail. “Hi, how are you?” I Read more
Hearts are breaking everywhere
Even though I cannot see your face Nor place my fingers upon your skin; I am here; craving your words, your Warmth, the small smile in the dark, So damn sweet As if still children; we would play on the Playground, eat unwashed apples, and Ride our bikes, dangerously… Need Read more
The Shipwreck of the Ispolen
For one hundred and twenty-five years, I’ve been nothing more than a watery whisper, dissipating in shifting waves, crumbling to shadowy fragments, perpetually washed upon the sandy shore. My fingers are ghosts stretching longingly and painfully back to Norway, where love was once known. Cruelly, my spirit is trapped here: entrapped Read more