Stray

Why did we have to spot her? By all accounts the gods know we have done our best, taking on one too many before, now knowing our limits and that of our yard and sanity; Yet there she was, and we felt before seeing, noticed slight movement and heard a low warning...

Plume

Just get over it, she says, words spewing like hot lava from icy lips; intention beside the point and yet how could I have understood back then? She would remain forever mute on the origins of that rage and I had the rest of my life yet to figure it out; Fifty-five...

Percussion

The grit of metaphor grinds slowly, chafing the brain until words emerge, runaway horses on the plains of pages, hooves pounding sentiments, grafting meaning onto senselessness resulting, it is hoped, in broadening context for eyes to behold, reversing imprints from...