Most recent stories

Under the Drawbridge

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J;>8-<=

The Celebrity

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Mr. Blumberg and I sat side by side on a small couch in the family room. He was watching a football game on TV.

You Can Wear Skinny Jeans

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He looks at me again, this time glancing down at my skinny jeans, “And... are you a single mom?” he seems to think he has it right, taking a last look at my aquamarine colored pants and the tapered area around my calves.

An ode to ill-used apostrophe’s

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Fragment’s of ignorance strewn by a haphazard hand

Sunbelt Winter Sketches

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Sunlight and the small wind/ swallow the frost/ on rooftops and windshields

Something Short

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It went like this: We were at the river. It had been a long day. The sun set over the hill tops, now. Me and Danny sat by the edge with buckets of water full of small fish and some dead crab that we'd got from the market, earlier and looked out over the small waves the…

The Revenge of the Dead Music

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The wind is represented by Miss Abigail Weatherspoon, attorney at law. She wears a pink feather boa and is the spitting image of Janis Joplin as she appeared at the Monterey Pop Festival of 1967.

Preserved In Amber

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So no one ever caught sight of Eleanor picking her nose; besides, that wasn't what she was doing.

The mannequins

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I try to enjoy my bookbut the mannequins keep tapping at the windowWhen I look up they vanish Outsidefibreglass clouds are kept in placeby invisible wires——Sometimes the mannequins …

The Cake Forest

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They look like amateur beavers, all twenty-seven of them on their knees, gnawing through frosting bark. My wife is taking notes on a huge purple flower, listening to the kids as they shout out what tree corresponds to what flavor.

Among the Young Aesthetes

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I found him on the internet the other day, His air laconic, the beard now ashen grey.

Hot and Hungry.

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Hungover on the intangible ideas of a teenager in high school.

The Woman on the Train

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When I awoke she was there again, the woman with the blue scarf. She was standing by the compartment door, gazing out at the passing countryside, the rolling hills of France. I had seen her before, at the market buying flowers, outside a cafe hailing a taxi,…

my son

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his mother brought him to me/ when he was very young/ maybe a few months old,/ born in arizona july.

Anniversary

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We continue,/Held beyond all surface Liking it still/And each other/Often surprised:/Like finding garden flowers/No one planted/In summer bloom

momentary delay

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The clouds cried more than silver tears, this time.

Abundance

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A young woman in shorts removes her sunglasses, putting them on top of her head in order to study the little girl sitting on her father’s lap on the bus. “I want to get me one of those,” she says, with her dark eyes smiling.

Arcana Magi Pure Vol.4 - c.3

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Jumping from roof to roof, Keiko and Rumiko remained quiet after hearing Mayumi’s story. They saw the shrine ahead but they knew they were going to run out of buildings to stay above.

Men Are Beasts

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They both have an annoying habit. She talks to him while she's in another room, and he doesn't answer because he can't hear what she's saying.

Why Your Choice of Music Matters to the History of the People

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Once there was a real honest to God holy spiritout there that was a gift of loving kindness meant for everyone to share; unfortunately, it was given to all the wrong people, or the wrong people simply stole it. Either way the wrong people are…

Date Night

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Content may contain ordinary, everyday, and all around average happenings.

Old Joke

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How many exceptional people/ does it take to change a light bulb?

Nonesuch

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The morning of her suicide, Nonny Rice received a letter.

The Perfect Note

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Everything needs context, otherwise reality would be nothing more than stardust with a spark.

Poppies

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I was born upside down, the umbilical cord looped twice around my neck. My mother claimed she was so busy working the swing shift at the hospital that she didn’t even know she was pregnant at first. But I found this hard to believe. Of course she knew. My

Cento In Prose and Poetry

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*A"Cento" which is a "patchwork poem" using the words of other writers. for V.W. …

I Don't Know How the Nights Can Be So Long When Life Is So Short

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I will always remember that picture of you in your bright blue summer dress, with your arms spread out against a wooden fence in Central Park.

Me and Not Me

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Is there a homunculus in my brain guiding everything like the pilot of an airliner?

Voyeur

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Morning's first blush, their world in repose. Sated, drained, spent; …

Style Shifts

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Style Shifts “Oh, yes, my cousin. We were rude boys until the armed gangs started to gather. Used to be we could pass a night driving, playing our songs, acting tough. Yeah. We'd mouth off, flash some teeth, spark some anger when we felt like it. We…