The saran wrap is being heated, closing and tightening its grip on mushiness as a middle-aged body sits on a dented spot in the couch. My head,… Read more “Twenty Four Percent”
Untitled
Years ago, when the world didn’t seem to be marching steadily towards damnation, aspiring writers wrote about simpler things. There wasn’t as much need for fiery political… Read more “Untitled”
Kiss The Sky
Her mouth is agape. Her heart is muddled in everything she never wanted in this life. Yet, she dances. She swirls in red sequined covered Tom’s. Her… Read more “Kiss The Sky”
Marks On A Calendar
By: Kimberly Zapata As I stand here at the calendar, crossing through days without thought, reflection, or the smallest bit of regard, I wonder what I am… Read more “Marks On A Calendar”
Refugee Of Me
We are all nostalgically indebted to the person we used to be in our younger days. I find my eyes closed, bringing me back to high school.… Read more “Refugee Of Me”
Static Solace
The rain washes ugly away, streaking it down the street to pool in a pile of disgust. You either love the rain or hate it. There doesn’t… Read more “Static Solace”
When Misfits Cry…
Punk, my greatest apologies. I am going out of turn. Breaking our rules. I’m sitting in our clubhouse alone. I’m sobbing. You said I could hide here. I’ve… Read more “When Misfits Cry…”
To Love A Writer
It’s the writing hour. It’s the time to replay decades’ old mistakes. To lay awake, wondering about my uncertain future. To think and dream of what would… Read more “To Love A Writer”
On ‘Feeling Alive’
Like a leaf, I fell to the pavement. Slow motion, a gentle swoosh, before settling into the mercy of the wind. As I laid there, I wondered… Read more “On ‘Feeling Alive’”
Wild Thing
They put my girl on Prozac. I’m forced to look at her dead, stale eyes. For it was me who is guilty of destroying a wild thing.… Read more “Wild Thing”