The woman who has just taken the empty seat next to me wears the same fragrance I have been programmed to tie to you. I, for a moment, forget where I am, forget who I am, and mesh again as the being we formerly referred to as Us. These senses take command and they tell … More Four/Twenty-seven

Kay Jones

“Go on, cry your salty tears into my wounds. Cut me down with your words and hide the tools to build me again. Just know there is a place you cannot reach, a place your neglectfulness turns to a stockpile of resentment. Know that room is almost full.” – from a page in Luke Jacobi’s … More Kay Jones


Leaves freeze and fall from the limbs that spawned and fed their veins. They are blown by gusts of winter winds, the culprit who makes children’s cheeks turn from peach to apple. I sit by this hollow glass lamp filled with shark teeth combed off beaches of bygone summers. It’s 60 watt, disposable illuminance, must be … More Hibernation

Page Six

The coats hanging on their pegs look over my shoulder music penetrates my ears drumming through to my feet where they refuse to be still cannot be told where they are treading must contain the shaking legs limbs split the thumping on the carpet where we dug holes for the fish bones found tossed by … More Page Six