Fiction
This Place, it Echoes
My first real breath of air smells of pine and woodsmoke. It comes to me on a cool breeze, mid-afternoon, a sunny day that
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
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
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
For Matthew
Today I am thinking of you and Michigan. Remember how back in the day I didn’t drink coffee? Well, I still don’t care for it
All Noon at the Bank D’Amemzionne
Mister Pope stood in line at the Bank D’Amemzionne, where he’d come to make his regular cash withdrawal to cover the upcoming week’s expenses. Getting