Fiction
Paper Boat
Three walls of the room are made of tin, but on the fourth side a polished floor opens, running like fabric into curtains of lace,
A Beggar’s Opera House
She was suspicious that everyone in the room was melting. The man sitting at the coffee table directly in her line of sight was
Ride the Peter Pan
There were times when it seemed like all the beauty was sucked out of my life. This was one of them. It was cold and
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
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
In the Round Pen
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on this moment. How do I feel? What am I seeing? What am I hearing? Him.