We fandango/tango, our steps contradyne.** You whirl in circles; I walk the line. Your color wheel reeling spins textures of feeling. I devise derivations for rainbow equations. How would it be if we combined your circle and my line?
Author: The Helix
Okay, I admit it. We’re old. No spring chickens in our roost. Even if we didn’t realize we had passed the “forever young” age, our kids have kept us informed. Right before COVID-19 hit, they sat us down to
I am in a spaceless gap between here and elsewhere. My memories run down the dark corridors of my mind like wounded ravens in the night. I live in a galactic gap of existence, a pause between micro-moments in
But still I love you, as how a mother worn by a child’s complaints admires the back of his small head of curls. Or the way a woman leaves her fireplace into winter’s bitter ice with her dog leashed
“She’s a devil with a little bit of angel dust.” –The Dropkick Murphys Leaving the safety of art school for the uncertainty of being an artist you photographed the detritus along the Williamsburg Bridge: the empty syringes & burned
You’ve got to face the music, Sweetie, my father would say, this refrain of my childhood chiming surer than Sunday’s church bells, than the neighbor’s pug barking at every car. He’d say it, and then say nothing else, as
Beside the sagebrush rolls a tumbleweed devilling dust across the desert. Leave specters to their romp—leave them to upend earth behind their iron gate. Listen carefully. Push your boulder up the mesa. Hear the grit of wind and brace.
Sometime in 1998, the doctor entered the room as if he wasn’t about to deliver me the worst news of my life. But, he nonchalantly sat on his stool, opened up my case file and flippantly frowned. He looked
The electronic chime of the alarm clock sounded from within Eileen’s cranial implant. “Good morning!” Andrew informed her in a bubbly tone. His early-morning enthusiasm never quite gelled with her outlook. But it was to be expected, given his
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