Prose & Poetry

“The time is twelve fifty pm, ventilation reset begins in ten minutes.” A robotic voice called […]

Today He does not know where to begin. He picks up the medicine bottles and reads

In a circle, a group of men squatted on the sand, drinking tea. In the middle

The brass jingle of a shop bell rang above her as she stepped into the derelict

Sometimes questions mean more than answers.  But Bissell Langley was an answer man.  He had the

It was the summer of his twentieth year when the son of the Great Chieftain died.

            I am standing outside my parents’ bedroom window and there are socks, but no shoes,

and this book is a rose on the deconstruction of constellations into starfall. I have written

I just wish I could visit his grave.  Just to stand by it.  I’d only been