Pincushion
I am no longer shocked by blood. Scissors scratch what shouldn’t be touched. (How much metal can I insert under my skin?) I lack the surgeon’s skill of precision,
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- 606 reads
Mother's Ruin
Salty air pelts his face with coarse winds, Each granule bitter in its velocity; tiny teeth and claws Riding on the sea air. Feathers must offer protection
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- 614 reads
Clocks, Queues, Returns
What a waste of a lunch hour. I spent nearly all of it stuck inside a clock shop. For a place that sells time, they sure do steal a lot of it. Someone should look into their operation.
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- 2020 reads
Darkest Yorkshire Chapter Two
The Moors looked despondent and menacing, banks of darkness encompassing the town like a malevolent archangel.
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- 1248 reads
How to Have Money in Your Life
Plus, enormous wealth enables you to ruin your kids' lives. Need I drop a few names?
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- 2084 reads
Wolven Memories
"My name is Marcus, and I assure you that you shall find me to be a man just as charming and mysterious as that dainty little combination of letters suggests." A short story of werewolves.
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- 1080 reads
No Matter...
...who you vote for, the government always gets in. This poem is dedicated to the late Viv Stanshall and, of course, to the Bonzo Dog Doodah Band.
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- 2931 reads
The truth of it
The monumental blue clouds sit heavy on our horizon, but I am trying to tell a story of the inside, here, though there’s something to be said for the looming.
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- 1129 reads
Sadness, Bakeries, Heartbreak
When Rosemary left Javier he became filled with despair, the kind of despair which quickly turns to the most intense dull sadness.
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- 2511 reads