“In a rough way the short story writer is to the novelist as a cabinetmaker is to a house carpenter.”
– Annie Proulx
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
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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