Short Story
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Our world. Gusts had told its tale. Its own whispers, drifting everything everywhere. Seeds once spread. Gardens had grown. Love was birthed from a small fraction of all being felt. When we felt it, we gave our eyes over to it. But nothing had burned, as nothing had lit itself up in the dark. In…
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To assure the solemn, then begin to reassure that one in those depths. Assuming first that a man here is not crying because of the weather, as no dark clouds exist within the sapphire-blue skies. Omit then that they could have been the culprit to his mood. If the sun is great and bright, then…
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I want to part these lips for light. He chooses to open his mouth, though the blank pages remain. Whether I or him, whether the world full of silhouettes and sighs or the singular man who kneels here will want to breathe for what means to go, it goes without accepting. Short of time, and…
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“I think, that when I look at the night, I can see something still so mesmerizing of color as the day. I can see nothing missing in detail, never deprived of either vividness nor shape. A flawless form; though, dead with the teardrops that fell, while in desperation, attempting to raise a garden from a…
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“I think, that when I look at the night, I can see something still so mesmerizing of color as the day. I can see nothing missing in detail, never deprived of either vividness nor shape. A flawless form; though, dead with the teardrops that fell, while in desperation, attempting to raise a garden from a…
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He paces, in support of himself. His footsteps crumble remnants of a previous Autumn, for now the season is Spring. Something keeps his forward direction, though his heart requires a quilt, even as a hand to keep it company. This elder, this man, follows the sidewalk gleams, like it were a pathway of snow for…
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Still-life. A stilled life. He weeps to form a garden made from her debris. He weeps, and he cannot even leave. He weeps the funeral back into togetherness, to the final time in being the blank witness to a sunshine that distanced itself so well. It was the final time to view the light, even…
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Curtains, as everyone’s enemy. Concealment, of a human side, made as blessed. Safety was our concern, as all to everyone’s fear. Though, love would not lose. Love would not depart. Not ever, safely. Not at all, without the storm. We are weary. In each other’s arms, we are heavy. I’ve granted you the yearning to…
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I “Helpless Disposal” Why have the clouds come together? Is the heart ever the same? He steps. He buries a foot in the soft earth, pushing himself against the gusts that tear into his middle-aged form. “I have to return home before the earth begins to tremble at the first sign of thunder.” Yet, the…
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Slowness to sobriety. Fill me up with the porcelain from your eyes, with the sentences that perspire upon the lids. Keep me afloat in your drunken state, in the arms that swim, while nails begin to dig. You let fall your fingers to pierce the wood of a coffin, while I am settled in the…
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He has fed on her stare. Of her smile, too, blossoming from the face, pallid in its ill-like discoloration. Of stare and smile, both. He stays living among wine for his sadness, granting him warmth of vermillion liquid droplets, then to her palms outstretched for his grasp. Of stare and smile that looms, from beneath…
Modern Romanticism 