Fiction
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
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.
When You Grow Up
I’d rather be a collapsed flower drenched in rainwater; succumbed to the well where wishes weld winning whims. though not alone as the barren heart
Dear Spec
___The featured image accompanying this piece, entitled ‘Spectrum’, has been used with the permission of artist, Robert Alan, a mixed media artist from New York
Empty Lines
[Ring, Ring, Ring] The telephone rings but I don’t want to answer On the other side is someone who I’m running away from [Ring, Ring,
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