Category: Creative Writing
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It’s silent among the weeds of the fan whir. The sun teeters on the edge of darkness. The growing, green… Read more.
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A cool, wet street The sound of tires splashing through the rain One lone car up the road, toward the… Read more.
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I miss winter’s dusk How the last of the cold lemon sun Lays down its rays like a blanket upon… Read more.
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Flittering filth and glass lenses. The dais waits under fuzzy white light. The podium is propped. The whole of the… Read more.
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Liquid day Fog, breath Cornucopia of popping white lights Amplified chatter, chaos, screaming children The central corridor of the train… Read more.
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It’s quiet in the house, save for the tea kettle steam engine puffing on the stovetop. The whistle now pierces… Read more.
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When everything is fake like snakes And the lemons are made of wood And the faces are made of mud… Read more.
