The Doldrums of March
The day was so dull, almost shadow-less, and I was so alone, even a shadow would have given me comfort. Pages of ancient tomes, full of…
No. 7 · Ditch'em
Stygian Doubts
The rottenness of it all is no less foul for having been bleached white. This is the conclusion I come to. I walk with a scarf…
No. 7 · Ditch'em
There's No Place Like Home
I come from a land of red neck drinkers, who mount deer heads on walls without sheetrock. It was a simpler time then. You shot or…
No. 8 · Crossroads
Zakaria
He stood against the old barn door relaxed not a con frontational bone in his trim body Farm hand, hunter, true shooter the lens did him…
No. 8 · Crossroads
Free Lollipops, Really?
The children are ransacking the restaurant again. The four year old on one end by the doors food-finger-paints the window panes (and flips the light switches)…
No. 8 · Crossroads
Fishing for Gramps
Grandfather drank. Trussell was his name, Tut for short. His life was hard, hard as the Maine coastline and the spine of Mt. Battie. His stance…
No. 8 · Crossroads
Petals Flew
Days since the words flew gray days, felted days pressed between the boards a Victorian effigy to the birthing of spring, the ripening of summer. Violet…
No. 9 · Tracks
Fingering Bark
The branches of the trees are still sticks, chilblain skeletal appendages scratching the blackboard of a Poe-like evening screeching with crow cries mourning for the lore.…