Fiction

Short Story

No Man’s Land

Bloated clouds float above the prison, obscuring the sun. I linger outside the narrow cell window, which is no more than a barred gap in

Poetry

Led

“Let’s be in love for just tonight,” you said, When I had better things to do in red High heels. Encircling your big bad bed

Poetry

50s Dresses

Floral straight jackets hiding women
It’s too pretty to get dirty.

Poetry

Skirt

I. I see a video of women cycling in short dresses talking of how not to flash. They wide-angled their legs, pull the back of

Poetry

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