During the night and in the fog of halfsleep Ben shifted and felt the weight of Miranda gone from him, the bed empty. In the quiet of the house he thought he heard a footstep and the soft shutting of a door, and as his eyes searched the dark he…

This grey is going to kill me

What was it about the aged and cookies? Here was another one that relished them. Sebastian's grandmother was a specialist. People on the outside thought she was a bird enthusiast. Grandma could be seen refilling the bird feeders at all hours. After the morning…

Suddenly she feels the urge to go, the TV lounge, with its flat Ikea furniture and black sofas where two young men glowering sprawl, is unknown territory. She can imagine those eyes, mouths, hands all over her. One of them looks up and there is an unspoke

The main street has turned into the lowland of dust devils, with the red sun scorching, continuing to serve the living like a giant blood pentacle.It looks like a heathen ritual invoking an ugly looking God with wings or horns, but beneath the whirlwind of rising…

then something like a shark gnawing on a harpsichord. Her drum kit apparently is an entire laundromat. A pocketful of marbles spilling in rivulets, down a set of narrow linoleum steps, merrily as two warblers splashing in a birdbath. several octaves below

With a deep breath she closed her eyes. Azure saw where she was at through night vision.

Ever the chance we were given, with luck always, fate. At least we engendered the song and the drink. Having sailed from the goddess of sensual love, having the best throw that beauty allowed, now you can call it will, though some will call it hate.

Cold smoke from the crater Breathes on our eyelashes; The abysmal emptiness held Its breath just once.

Lost in the booth of Mr Punch's dreams,Jack Ketch flinches at the imagesflickering across torn curtains.The chirpy projectionistsits in his nest,flinging pictures:A snake, rising from a discarded pair of clown's trousers.A monkey, balancing on a watermelon.A burning sofa.A…

Then there is Ethelbert's husband whom Ethelbert hasn't met yet, and who has literally weighed in, as if fed up and tired of waiting for a long, in full length, needless, wake up story. That is when Ethelbert asks, "Amy who?" related to a different group

Dan Arris sat in Chez Colette enjoying a roulade of veal stuffed with root vegetables. He was not a happy man.

On my second trip home from the University of Illinois down state in Urbana, it was during our break between semesters, I remember it was a particularly freezing cold and miserable January (1963.) I had a date with Lynda.

"Aren't you free to say whatever you please?"