Fiction

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

Short Story

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

Poetry

Where’s Nana?

She’s lighting a cigarette. The first time pops lost his words, I found her between the legs of a railway, staring at the ocean of

Fiction

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

Poetry

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

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