Kylan

Brother Connie -- I'm liking it. It's nice to see that you've started things off without your usual fantastical flair. Is this going to be a fantasy piece? For some ...

Mandorelute -- Very nice piece. It seemed to blend the best of both traditional and contemporary poetry, by first following a specific, meaningful pattern, but also free to roam past ...

A/N: This is a different story for me. The layout was a little experimental, and if things don't make sense, let me know. It's strange -- I've been writing a ...

A/N: Two short shorts that I wrote on a whim. I wanted to explore a couple different characters and a couple different situations. Enjoy. -- Sunflowers [spoiler]Darkeyed Phoebe runs through ...

canning peaches plush of a peach like the abdomen of a honeybee lisps under my fingertips pitted oracle, I pick it and the stem snaps and the whole morning stands ...

Jon -- Quick, summary review for you tonight. You're definately improving. Like Demi, there are things I like about this, and things I don't like. This is really not all ...

A/N: Different from the last few. Feels like a reversion. But it's a potent feeling of mine, and I wanted to write something with feeling. This is a poem about ...

windmills along the columbia single-footed standing like white cranes against the blue, whispered horizon alabaster and slender, like mothers dead in childbirth soundless against the bald forehead of

sanddollar fast, easy tidewaters nudging up against the thighs of the dunes and pulling away, a gray, fogsocked game of hardtoget. abandoned feathers and heavy, yoked whips of kelp and ...

Galerius -- Here, as promised. I liked how this poem felt. I like the feelings and the images it gave me. I get a very post-apocalyptic, mythological feeling. Where you, ...

Remember your friends, guys... -Kylan

Happy birthday! -Kylan

mourning over cold tea the fingers snared around the teacup like button-hooks and the girl sitting pink and wilted on the capillaried wood, dress spreading around her like a pandemic. ...

morning over cold tea the morning is full of dead breath and tactless birdsong blue teacups squat on the tablecloth, wide and humorless as winking eyes and you enter unannounced, ...

i. He carries her in his arms as he runs. The bombs drop from the sky like overripe fruit and the city shrugs and sighs and the buildings kneel down ...