Silence in the Afternoon
Silence in the afternoon burns brittle holes in the cloth of time. I suppose it could be desire rising through impatient..
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I Am Not A Murderer!
It might be a dream; A girl has been killed. I knew her. They’ve unearthed body parts in the vacant lot. I was seen there...
Introducing: In This Issue…
Today we introduce the first issue of Uptown Mosaic Magazine. We’ve been laboring mightily to pick the best fiction, poetry and art..
Addictions
The need I feel is not audible but it pounds its fists against my egg-shell skull, trying to break out in a spill of yellow goo. It pinches..
Hollow
The station is crowded like a fishbowl, benches of stony coral and rotten planks sagging under human dialogue. The light is dead,..
It’s Hard to be True to Words/ It’s Hard for Words to be True
Trick trick trickles of words snow into black seas, their undersides worn holey and white-..
sermon to the broken
you won’t die though your pen may dry or erupt crude swamps drown straight lines you..
