I am a monster. At least that’s what I’ve been told by the man who gave me life. Viktor. No, he is not my father. I have no father. Nor a mother. I was born in a laboratory during a storm, an amalgamation of body parts stolen from various graveyards. He t...
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Stories
Getting up to the attic is a chore these days. Hell, some mornings just getting out of bed is a chore. Still on the right side of the lawn though, which is something. So full of history up here. The weight of it lies heavy on my shoulders at times. Feathe...
Carousel spinning round and round Painted horses guard the killing ground Houdini’s ghost lends a helping hand Save your prayers for Superman Charcoal skies and hornet’s nests Soldiers dressed in their Sunday best Behind them plays a marching band Welcome...
Therapy Homework Assignment #1: Feelings
In which an aspiring youngish writer is denied cake by fascists.“What did you learn from this?” My therapist talking. She thinks that there are lessons in everything. My answer? “Next time, cut vertically, not horizontally. Also, white wine goes much better with sleeping pills than red.” I’m planning on working this i...
“Tell me a story, Lucy,” Alice murmured, staring skyward, watching the clouds form dragons or, possibly, cats. “And give it a happy ending this time, please.” Lucy shrugged and lay down her pen aside, deep in thought as she plucked blades of grass from th...
“I feel useless.” “You’re not.” “It doesn’t matter. That’s how I feel.” I wish I was a bicycle. Silly, I know, but think of it. Throw me in the back of the car and take me down to the shop and… “Twenty dollars, she’ll be good as new.” Liar. We tried that....
I need to fall Scrape my knees Skin my palms Let me You need to learn to watch And we both know how hard it is When I keep falling over and over and… Smack Face down on the concrete Lip bloody and tears threatening Gritting my teeth as I get back up Again...
Cherry Blossoms
Another puzzle to piece togetherFrost coats the cherries, pulling them from swaying branches, clinging like sorrow. Just last spring soft pink petals fluttered like butterflies patterning the ground with poetry and prose. Hard to believe that, in my grandfather’s time, feminine shaped s...