Fiction
Ca’Venezia: Your Voice
Your voice alights on my armhair, a whiff of cigar smoke— caramel, and ghostly— “Cities die; let them.” Black thing to say. I patter
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
Tallahassee Route
It never occurred to me how messy I can look. It’s almost finals week. I’ve been wearing my friend’s navy hoodie with noticeable white writing
Edit
Can’t you let the film spool unseen on the stained floor? Its frames forever static as my fingers resplice our hands. Let my battalions of
The Bricks are Shrieking
Cal Jacobs sat in an uncomfortable rolling chair made of plastic and polyester, staring out the tenth floor window of his high-rise.
Upon Impact
In the bedroom they used to share, the real estate agent opens the blinds, letting in the mid- morning sun, then walks toward the desk