Fiction
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
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
Pins
Crying, I recall my father shudders, remembering tall thin men at the foot of the bed apparitions at night, faceless heads like pins, mostly arms,
Opposable
How do I write with these frantic fingers Left index plugs tearing right aorta Right hand holds closed ripping left ventricle I am hopelessly, entirely
A New World
While he sleeps I catalogue his body. When he is awake I keep my distance. While he dreams I touch and map in a
The Day of Our Meeting
I dreamed of the day, In the dead of winter, A dreary day, When I’d step off the train And see you there- The day