a stripped
“In a rough way the short story writer is to the novelist as a cabinetmaker is to a house carpenter.”
– Annie Proulx
Wherever You Are
Crossing the Third Avenue bridge, I saw you
in a cab by yourself. You looked into my eyes
as you passed, then turned away without a smile.
Was that really you? Tell me that wasn’t you
turning away.
DARK
Metal Edges
Road signs freshly painted, every day I travel going left then right watching out for pot holes that will break my heart. Surprised! Avenues opened yesterday, are today closed.
Notes From Purgatory
Integer eget aliquet nibh praesent tristique. Tortor posuere ac ut consequat semper viverra nam libero. Vestibulum lorem sed risus ultricies. Cursus metus aliquam eleifend mi in nulla posuere sollicitudin. Eget mauris pharetra et ultrices neque ornare aenean.
Dismissed Mingling
Garbing my elbow hard almost desperately Ellen maneuvers me into the loft’s bird cage her red blushed finger pushes hard upon the up button. Our hands scramble to touch the others face, kneading flesh deeply we linger lovingly as our fingers reach the crossroads READ MORE
