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  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I washed my sheets today with generic laundry soap and more quarters than a Polar Pop costs. Tumble dry, heat low. My bed wiped clean of any traces of my skin or my sins. Cotton breathes with fabricated lungs. They hold the ramblings of my sleep speeches and the secrets we tell between chapp...
  • Fiction > Romance
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    I’m sorry Sam. I’m sorry for kissing him; that boy with the dark curls and the Social Distortion t-shirt. That boy who just so happened to listen the same way that your gentle ear does; about horseshoes above doorways, candlesticks made of beeswax, and the rings of a tree stump revealing its ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    The bell above the door draws the waitress's attention from a table of gruff old men dressed in plaid shirts and Teamsters caps. One hovers over a plate of scrambled eggs, jowls dangling, a dog with food aggression. As the sign taped to the wall suggests, we seat ourselves. Just two kids, ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I am a hotel. A Best Western, Holiday Inn, something along those lines. The kind of place with bed skirts that match the drapes. The kind of place where the perpetual buzzing of the vacancy sign shines onto the blacktop parking lot. The kind of place where you can rest your weary head; you’re alwa...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    In the time allotted, I have planned a lifetime. But I never planned for shared glances across the room at a crowded house party, my red cup brimming with courage and tasting like pink lemonade. I never planned for drunken introductions cursed slurs, blurry visions, sideways jokes, painted ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Lately I've been feeling caged. Creatively pent-up by a mental block that divides my passion and my pessimism. The Stasi shooting down my poems and prose. I'm not one for Eastern Bloc politics, though. It's words that captivate my soul. Thinking about being the sole survivor of a tragic accide...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    The paint peels from behind the radiator that clicks and clangs, letting out puffs of steam like skywriters in tiny aircrafts, professing proposals and publicity in wispy vapor trails. We sit in the stairwell at the market like indie hipsters, buying locally grown produce for your Thanksgiving ...
  • Fiction > Romance
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    “I don't like to wear socks to bed. I feel like my toes are suffocating.” “I've been wearing the same flowered shirt every Wednesday for the past three months and no one has said anything about it yet.” “My mom collects miniature lighthouse figurines, and I purposely break them becau...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    It was one of those days that gets me through. Lazy river and slipper rocks skipping in the late-summer sun. Laying and lounging in tall leaves of grass, lallygagging behind the ample clouds as they morphed into obscure shapes. So many high points in these final hours before we fell back into sy...

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