Fiction
Marge Simpson
Knows the heart ache of canaries. Hummimg bird to spilt milk No friends same dress Pearls that rarely dance Five dollar rose bouquets Without a
The Solution
I talk to myself. I have to. No one else will listen. No one else understands. Even if they did, I wouldn’t dare expose
Thunder Polka
The thunder polka of a new romance Began today on my left foot, the one Believed to lead suggestiveness astray. True love’s a waltz: it’s
Home No More
I miss your coffee-covered breath, Early in the morning. It made me hungrier than death For a thrill without a warning. I miss your sweet
The Lives of Invisible People
In the coffee shop watching all the invisible people. The Chinese cellist reading aloud without a sound, the two men nearby trying to flirt inconspicuously,
Treading The Fire
maybe beauty will remain an abstract dirge; a mantra to be ruminated over like a submerged leek becoming tender in warm water. as it seems