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 Sacrifice
Hauling my suitcase up the unevenly-paved alley, I glance at the second-storey room I share with Komal. Against twilight’s midnight blue, our window glows white.
Secondary Colors
June 1st Julia is dreaming. She’s always dreaming. Frothy ocean waves roll over her fingers as they sink into the sand, lifting her up into
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
Blind Devotion
I jack off to one of the pictures of her I have saved on my computer and after I’m done I send her a message to tell her
Hurricane
hurricane Syllables [hur-i-keyn, huhr– or, esp. British, -kuh n] –noun After a couple weeks sentence of staying in some foreign place with trees, she came back home and Miami