Category Archives: Fiction

I wake up alone, and it isn’t new, butit is earth shatteringevery time.The bed is always cold on that side,cold enough it tries to pull the heat from me.You’re somewhere far, and I haven’t been able to reach you.It isn’t … Continue reading →

You whimper, a kicked dogbut refuse to stayinstead playing dead at my feet.I could help you if only you wouldbare your throatto bear my collar. The mewlingisn’t warranted, you know.I’ve never raised a hand to youbecause you don’t wantthat sort … Continue reading →

It’s not a thundering but a rhythmic stutter, a seizing beat, a rapidfire-horse-hooves-in-the-mud kind of pounding, like it could break through its bone cage, a strange clattering of opened-wing hopes and clutched-talon fears, a gasping, reaching, aching kind of pulse, … Continue reading →

starting, launchinginto the newness,and no one had ever realized that it wasonly the shell,only the framing,only the drywall studsof a story,I remember we fell down,in which we could benothing more thanthe began selves we already were.some time long ago,an oral … Continue reading →

Once, just once, you said something to me that burned, and I don’t imagine you remember it, but it cut into me the way an early, unwanted limb is cut from a tree, and leaves a shape in the bark … Continue reading →