Fiction
Destination Zero
It’s been 6 months, 13 days and 4 hours since I last weighed myself. I hid the scales in a plastic bag under some books
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
A New World
While he sleeps I catalogue his body. When he is awake I keep my distance. While he dreams I touch and map in a
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
What is tomorrow?
Tomorrow is that glint in your best friends’ eye, When he proposes a daring plan. Tomorrow is that rainbow glinting in the sky, Reminding you
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