Fiction
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
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
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
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
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
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.