Short Fiction and Poetry

The face of time  A countenance of what is.   Long forgot is what was. Like dust from boot. [...]

The wooden sign on the door—Lady Peripeteia: Wise Woman and Spiritual Healer—indicates to Flora that she is at the right place. [...]

There is an entity living behind my couch. Occasionally it will grab a neck hair freaking out the vacillating stoners. [...]

Half-plate, named for the type of armor he wears, has been a skeleton warrior fighting in the Necromancer’s army [...]

Janice held the page with a shaky hand. The litter of numbers and letters blurred before her eyes. I can’t think straight anymore. [...]

In the operating room before             I go onto the table, go under                         & undergo the knife [...]

I drop onto the couch next to Sally, thinking about lost time. She touches my cheek and points to the ceiling. “You’re wiped out [...]

work and mendings for criminal politics:             a handbook for hookers [...]

All that Phil Rollins could do was sit there, his eyes fixed at a point low on the wall of the office. His hands lay intertwined [...]

No need to awaken Me from the depths Of my sleep.