Where Mama and the Hallowe’en Leaves Don’t Be

After sunset, and a dead boy sat in a wicker chair on the porch of his mama’s home. Seeing the … More

A Stream of Consciousness about Brussels and Being Home

What this guy sees is smoke and he hears noise like screaming. He’s on the ground, he’s at an airport, … More

A man wakes up lost. Around him, trees—tall as mountains—they block out the sky. The man forgets if there ever … More

Christmas Eve on the bridge, and a star in the north, blazing behind the fog. God looked down into the … More

The smell of gunpowder makes its way into my nose. God. You’d think a cop wouldn’t mind the smell. Might … More

The early morning stirs its way into the dawn’s dark sky. And the evening moon, which became the night moon, … More

The window over the sink, the one with a late-day sun coloring the kitchen. Through it, the farmer watched the … More

A colossal pumpkin in my arms, I stumbled into the house. Kicking toy cars, small, discarded shoes out of my path. … More

There is a bubble on my fiancée’s eyeball. Probably only a millimeter or two in width. It is clear. Looks … More

On an old hill. In an old manor. In its old parlor. Sitting on an old chair. Miss Meesha, a woman widowed, wrinkled, and … More