Day 61

It has been 60 days. 60 days of turmoil and cotton brain and almost nothing coming to fruition. It had been a hundred days before that of hustle and bustle, of things coming together, of the air being electric. The storm has died, and although I cursed it’s...

Hope

Dust settles on the sidewalk here, a chill in the air whistles through her hair and her hands. It’s all over now; of that she is entirely certain. The sparks are flying all over the place, catching the wind and shooting upward until they are nothing, back to...

Rooted

In the dark place sits the lion, curled up, caged. It breathes its own stink into everything, filling the small apartment with a dust that never seems to evade. Even if you think you’ve cleaned the place up, a ray of light will reveal the tiny particles still...

The Nice Room

I found an old note the other day, addressed to Dear beautiful girl. It was left among old note pads and papers in between ramblings typed out on my typewriter. The edges had become worn, and you could feel the bumps on the back of the page from where rough hands had...

Association

She breathed light and fire into everything, whole but not quite, the type who has this little part you know you could stretch open. She begs you to come inside and let her know you mean something, that she means something. She tells you she is broken but she wears it...