A Being of Aether, who having appeared to me one morning, instructed me in the geometry of thorns. She seemed to be semi-infinite as her often melodious speaking voice was unimaginable in one direction and limited in another.

The candles and my brain flame like a torch

By day, Ksiusha Milda is a housewife with a one year-old daughter. By night, she is a blues singer of sorts, a practitioner of this country’s traditional folk song, kale.

We were in love with the same disease.

"So what about this week's selection?" I ask cheerfully. "What did everybody think?" "I liked it!" says Liz. She always does--her tastes aren't very discriminating.

Like a small meteorite, a white cloud falls. The journey seems to have been long since it cannot spring up again, its wings being exhausted. Like a scared and shivering bird, it curls into my hand. Its apparent fragility prevents me from tightening my grip. A unique…

You had to put up with Sunday drivers You had to love children All children, all of them! This is what it took to be God It wasn’t fun You had to be patient, sometimes You had to pretend to look the other way You needed to lose your he

Everything's inflatable. Here we go. It's all plastic. Give it a rest, kid.You could say that I just want to enjoy nothing for now. But. Let's go ahead and buy into its precisely sealed with a rubber stamped kiss kind of survival rate statistic for…

As has happened many times in my life, I heard his voice in my sleep and I saw him, though only briefly. Over the years I have seen this man I thought was him clearly and known when he was in danger – a car wreck at twenty (I was correct on everything b

Our flesh was on fire like a flute with wind, or a little reed next to the dried river. I was like a voyeur whose heart was a sponge, brushing up against all that disturbed man. I was only and ever the flower of our notorious youth, aware of more than the

Once we’d mellowed from the wine, our little group of friends grew reflective. We started talking about our “bucket lists”–how we were going to spend the remainder of our years before we lapsed into senility.

Hi fellow writersThis is a proposed start of novel.Protagonist is Flor "the urchin"her grandfather, whom she hated when he was alive (and vice versa) is seeing her life from the void, he has died.Please offer any feedback or thoughts you may have, all are appreciated.Here…

Bands: Free Blankie My First Dustbuster Sledge Hammer Glove Compartment Hot Weather Lady Cattle Prod and the Punks The Cowpokes Poker Two Fingers In Occupy This Tidy Up Goal Keeper and The Kneecaps Leslie Sweet And The Kitchen

For Algernon Afloat, on tidal difference's separated songs Let nothing spare her mention, still belongs That sterile tone mismissioned to my ear What love's illusion balanced most when throngs Of hummingbirds advanced, methinks, to hear…

amongst the other gentlygathering flotsam up against my internal dictionary's borders. Doesn't matter much if the deed is life rushing itself through a tube that poured us out together like this, or just mutual need that…