Fiction

Poetry

Antagonistic Environment

he swears that the desert is laughing, mocking him with the distant wail of the wind, the hoot of an owl. each spray of dry

Short Story

Wednesday

  It’ll be a Wednesday. It’ll be cloudy outside. There will be fog creeping over the ravine and remnants of an early-morning rain still drifting

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

Poetry

Edit

Can’t you let the film spool unseen on the stained floor? Its frames forever static as my fingers resplice our hands. Let my battalions of

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

Poetry

Cold Lights

Outside my window there is steam
and there are lights in a skyscraper
where people sit at their desks
and the lights let them work.