Fiction
Black Shrunken Blemish
When Frances had to speak publicly, her legs shook. As a kid, she had grown faster up than she had out and she had felt
Comatose (or You Don’t Know Where You Are)
You wake up. Are you dead? You don’t know where you are. Look around. There is a wide dirt road framed by tall, dark pine
The God in the Attic
In our attic, among things, as it seems of past lives, lives a bitter God. When guests come to our house, we don’t mention him.
Secondary Colors
June 1st Julia is dreaming. She’s always dreaming. Frothy ocean waves roll over her fingers as they sink into the sand, lifting her up into
Lascaux is Burning
The first art Was not art, Rather, a color line shot through the dark, No more expression Than a plea for explanation. The grandest monuments
The Solution
I talk to myself. I have to. No one else will listen. No one else understands. Even if they did, I wouldn’t dare expose