something euclidean

I miss that being who writes ghazals and trains them together with string doesn't look at us mere mortals, hides in a cape trailing strings -- A light-footed nightingale, drawing ...

This is all of a short story in need of critique. If this is too long for one post -- I'm not sure how it's supposed to go with finished ...

prose poem for a night out on the town People pretend and tell how they cry to the moon then merely stand amazed at her curves for a moment, at ...

Some things make the most sense on a bleary morning, their shadows dark and clear against the fog, that bleakness opens up wide as the world, as a wounded ghost. ...

i have no more poetry to give, to lay upon the altar of your shoulderblades; beads of words trapped as sweat in the valley of your back. i have barely ...

The Lake The wavelets of the lake pat against your ankles, like a wagging soggy dog ready to shake and ecstatic to discover a wet coat's ability to cause absolute ...

this is not nearly as well thought out and sophisticated as anything by Williams, but I had fun with it. Any suggestions on the rhythm/rhyme, or on keeping the imagery ...

this is the first half. The man who lost his shadow. By the time Edgar realized he had lost his shadow, it was long gone – it might have been ...

Aspen. i. I remember the night of my birth. If I could pretend there were music playing in the background, it would be sad and distorted. [she looks over my ...

The Fate of Mice by Susan Palwick was one of those books I pulled off the shelf on a whim, and to my delight and surprise the prose pulled me ...

The sun, a hot vessel sparking trees over water, does not concern itself with partings. This is more comforting than you'd imagine. If we were standing on a long dock ...

In that week of heat and quiet before the riots started, your girlfriend and I stalked the cigarette-strewn streets and plotted demise: yours, everything we might never know. She was ...