Prose & Poetry

The wind sings like a rowdy drunk on this colourless day,  as we cosy together from

I’ve read Jimi Hendrix was great at playing Risk, the board game where you try to

“Their brains are showing, Mommy!” declared the child of the crowned jellyfish, dozens of them, undulating

The growth of guilt—  an unwanted mass,  The kind some claim is born from the curse

1 in new green grass on blue meadows of flowers an old, beached dory 2 fogbound

Dear Earth! You endlessly astonish me! How is it that each Spring is made more beautiful,

All of it erodes. Even language loses its edge to the muddle. Time the acid etcher

Together we rolled—wheels groaned ‘long the rocky path, Wagon aimed West, our new life: a settler’s

The hurricane-waiting music remained, echoing after the power surged and died. A lullaby. I sleep. No