Poetry – Breakfast.

They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day. For a time, it was my only meal of the day. For a time, it was the only thing keeping me alive. But eventually, of even that I deprived myself. I craved the feeling of ice cold water trickling down to fill an empty…

Fiction: Rhapsody in Boole

Crushed brown beans and whistling hot steam, squashed mango pierced with a straw. The saccharine paste, dripping, at the back of my mouth. The solitary, synthetic caffeine surge. That shivering warmth inside of me. The September breeze. Shop windows and heavy eyes. The cries of the Examiner Startling the models, dummy struck, inside of their…

Denise

How can one hope to prepare for such searing loss. Confronted by the hollow void, the bridge we all must cross. One so green, at twenty years robbed of rightful time. Who can the world hope to blame for a higher being’s crime. The stolen joy, extinguished plans of all that lay ahead. The mortal…

Drive-Thru

There’s a city I know where the river flows fast And the cars do the same as they hurry on past The boarded-up windows of grimy old inns And corners that stink of the dullest of sins No railings or fences are built in this town Though we all know, come autumn, the children will…