JupiterMoon
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My stories
cigarettes at dawn for the poetry group
cigarettes at dawn for the poetry group the problem with writers, is that they are not as interested in each other’s work, as they claim to be. for beneath the polite
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if this life is a library, we're sure quiet now
is this life is a library, we’re sure quiet now lives passing by have started to remind me, of borrowed people i no longer see. like a spill of yesterdays, leaking from a walled-up
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fade
fade every early morning, i scrape down the last light from the constellations; stars, i feel suit my demands. sifting, rinsing them through shivering hands; sky wishes too hot to hold.
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an equator of traffic jammed
an equator of traffic jam back east, a low showing ramp stuck out like a tongue, pokes from a delivery suite. shackled in traction, automated birthing partners breathe out
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words make walls
words make walls they are married, i gather, and have met for breakfast coffee. he settles behind a Guardian, and a look of disgust. she fingers a croissant, trying to catch the eye
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- 1270 reads