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  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    A man takes a brush and paints a woman. He dips his brush and strokes the canvas. He swirls and sighs and caresses. He feasts his eyes and fingers and nose on her. He puts a mirror in her hand and calls the painting Vanity. A man steps into a gallery and looks at a woman. He licks his lip...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Me pusieron el nombre de una mujer de los sueños de un hombre. Mi nombre puede tener dos sílabas, o tres, o cuatro. Tengo dos otros nombres, y los todos significan “bendita.” Pues, yo no necesito ser bendecida, y yo puedo decidir la cantidad de aliento que las personas dan a mí...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Mother dearest, said the letter scratched on the windowsill, I wanted out of here, so I let myself down. I left you the hair, in case you wanted to try climbing the tower again. I think it’ll grow back pretty quickly. I promise to send you something nice, so don’t miss me. Love, ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I love you but I don't think I could live with you, said the daytime girl to the nighttime. I couldn't go without you, but I couldn't stay with you, said the nighttime girl to the daytime. So they chased each other across continents and wore house keys instead of promises around their...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Modernists will tell you of blue, green, grey, transparent. I could tell you glas. Your glas eyes, the glas glas grass of home. I don’t feel safe with the modernists’ specificity, their cold-blooded naming of things. Your eyes are not blue or green or grey, they are glas; take it as you...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    A terrible smell, Known to pit crews and mechanics around the world, Fills our humble garage. Tears of gasoline spit in an angry rage, And a volcano of smoke erupts. “Kill it,” my father motions with a wave. A deafening silence hangs in the air As we stare down our unbeatable foe, Co...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    And what of you should I have? With a heart such as yours made with such feathers and the air drumming along through such vessels so unburdened by platelets so thin and clear and every desultory bone in that skeleton sea glare stretched by tongs and hardened and skin such ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Hedgerows, wild ponies, two earthenware mugs of tea after lunch. The lush spring of the sod beneath your rain boots. Were it a starlit evening, the scent of your drink would dance away from you as poetry, screening the river from view- you’d think of a lover’s breath, perhaps....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    When I heard that some nameless Antigone had buried you in the hot earth, my first thoughts were for your eyes and scars, the red sand slipping beneath your lashes, between the spaces where comrades slit you open and fixed life back into your body with polydioxanone threads. I wanted to rea...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Life’s no fairytale- (spoiler alert everyone’s eaten in the end) but I can give you half a story here. A melting ice cream cone, mint chip, fallen from the yanked hand of a child. A maths test with a red A- in the upper corner, odd circular wavers in the paper, a stiff smear, lost som...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    You tripped on an enemy scalp, left littered on the cutting-room tiles with the rest of the coiling celluloid tripes – over-exposed, bleached out, blotched – the stills from a life I don't want....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    To be taped into your mind’s photo album - the two of us, forks and knives in hand, knees brushing beneath the thick-woven tablecloth draped over a sharp-cornered table tucked by two great planes of glass. The clouds devouring each other, and a great smashing of light falling over us lik...
  • Poetry > Haiku
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    We walk together, on the thin ceiling of Hell, and gaze at flowers....
  • Fiction > Romance
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    Listen to me. Maybe it won't get better. It might get worse. Or, you might stand up strong, or you could twist it the other way ‘round, make it something new. Perhaps paradise is drinking age at last in a gay bar: kiss their brows, love. Seven, twelve, sixteen, fifty - it wasn’t the s...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    They asked us, you know, how a fish could write a poem about the water. I think, a how could a fish not write a poem about the water? Is the water not everything the fish knows, feels, breathes; is the water not too cold, too hot, full of food or bereft of life? Twenty-seven sardine-ja...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Angels do not die at the point of a knife, but does not love erase as sure as death? The finality of consumption, satiation, planets swallowed by their stars, skin melting like flung candle wax into shapeless pools. They both are our nature and our escape from it; crashing this borrowed body ...
  • Fiction > Romance
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    Monte Carlo is electric bright at night. But Charles knows how to find the dark spaces, where to look. He’s dealing cards at a high-stakes blackjack game in the Casino, eyes and hands steady and watchful. One of the players hums in satisfaction, and Charles watches him inscrutably. He looks up, an...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    No titanium, no gasoline, no telephones. No genetics, no Gatling guns; only falling water, sheep, sunset colours. Only that in this language. In this language only the colour of a salmon’s gills, the love for one more than family but not kin, no skyscrapers, no torches, nothing of tempe...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Messages over a phone line. A language you don't speak. Vibrations on a wire, words lost in the air....
  • Fiction > All Fiction
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    She builds to destroy. Little girl-child in the red and pink scarf, her Mary Janes buffed to patent shine. Little girl at the party all alone. Little girl with the gauzy dress and the present with the neatly-folded ribbon. Little girl with the tear in her fingernail as she walks home through the s...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    You’re never taught some things in school. How to fight. How a palm fits in the small of your back. How to be happy. How to hurt. How to know what’s being thought. How to be loved. How do you know where your limits are? How do you know you can come back? What is home anymore, even?...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Nothing starts with your eyes on it. A cigarette trailing smoke like a body bleeding out, ethanol kisses and fault-lines through words. Nobody gets story arcs, or a moment when you think, That. That’s what’s going to end it all. So no clever foreshadow, no underlying message. We all ...
  • Fiction > All Fiction
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    I. Five Years Ago Le Petit Hôtel de la Soleil Couchant is set on the corner of a dusty, sun-roasted square, surrounded by jacaranda trees in full bloom. Violet blossoms float gently through the thick air. The hotel’s upper stories open onto a view of squat, mud-walled houses, and beyond t...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Do you want to tell me a lie? We’re as dirty as the ashen sky inside, and I want something like a firecracker, exploding in the troubled night, so for just a second I can ignore everything, and remember that the colours were beautiful....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    And a kiss is step one of seduction, she says. I think she's wrong, I think she had me with the glow of her skin with the window open, and the way her black hair caught the light like the feathers of a starling, bottle green and purple, or the curve of her forearm against a half-written essa...

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