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a different kind of apocalypse
Beginning of a very sad story. It seems like a sad, lonely day, and the ladybugs feel it too. They're the last of the season, crawling diligently across 8th floor windowscreens to remind the lonesome inhabitants of the building that it's time to pull out their boxes of sweaters. In one apartment, a slightly molded sham of a cardboard box is ( Read more... ) -
A Curiosity of Histories: a story I wrote and am quite proud of
At first, it had carried on unnoticed. Teachers continued to drill their students with the beleaguered facts of import, journalists maintained their methods and references, Jeopardy still aired at the same time every day to the casual delight of homebound septuagenarians everywhere and somehow, not a one of them saw it ( Read more... ) -
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If I were to tell the truth, I still love each of you just a little bit. -
I wrote a story I actually like! Read it!
story from a prompt for my creative writing class ( Read more... ) -
things to grow
and so we're faceless, as I breathe scattered life at your pillow. I could be anyone, you could feel my hips as hers. Ships sailing useless from the sea forged out of everyone we've ever known, reeling from the pressure of bones on full-gorged lies, even and especially in these hollow shadows we avoid each other. The craving's fruitless in its ( Read more... ) -
things all fall apart
and I feel the bones. Each morning ( Read more... ) -
I don't know.
When we are the professors, when we teach Vietnam ( Read more... ) -
a “found” pastoral for my creative writing class.
And now the storm-blast came, and on me alone it blew ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
Here is what I've figured out ( Read more... )
