Crocus and Hartshorn washed off knives.
A 'Dumb Waiter' delivers perriwinkles.
The Footman's pantry is empty.
Gall of Bullock and Beeswax shelved for future need.
'By cane or by birch the clergyman sh...
I have an old soul My soul is the soul that once danced with the gypsy nomads, laughing with no care but to live passionately and love freely. It is the soul that has been touched by the good Victoria...
Here is what I know:
My name is Caoimhe. My wife cannot say my name correctly, but I cannot say hers either, so I suppose that is fair. My wife, Adalheidis, pretended to be a man for a long time. This...
I remember the shine of compact discs
Using them as makeup mirrors
Applying lipstick with giggling friends
While another CD
Blasted out music from the stereo
I remember the warning
"Do not touch the l...
Quietly sitting on an old wooden chair, I hear the hum of the machine heating the water in the brown ceramic mug. Darkness creeps through the window blanketing the small room as I rise to retrieve the...
As children, we are told stories,
Of monsters and dragons,
And evil witches trying to kill good people,
Stories of prince charming,
Coming to rescue the princess in distress,
When we get older we tend...
Another day at school and I am ready to retreat As the bell rings, I grab my things and head on down the street
I stop by a soda shop nearby and get myself a pop
I make my way outside, I see a bench a...
There are endless reflections
Of my former selves
Versions of truth
Like previous versions
Of an operating system
That no one likes to think about
What was once cutting edge
Is now outdated
From the Princess’s Prologue
Alone in her travels throughout the night
Was a lass whose skin so pure and light
Born of royal blood when snow lay fresh
Same day her father been laid to rest
Paradise has not been lost, but found again,
In time, in every sleeping second, Weathered by the grinding of sin’s teeth
We are exiled, to paradise.
I have seen the inch of skin that reeks at me
There's a place for you,
But I refuse to believe
I can forgive you
For your disgusting atrocities.
Wicked storms arise to strike the masses
The cost of doing nothing causes
Eulogy to a player piano
played only by mice.
Strings twang untuned
as little ones scurry
from A to B flat.
The dusky sonata
of wood-chip cherubs
with wormy tails.
Nestled between keys
dotted with dro...
Her blouse is livid with loose ends of string
intertwined like feasting garden-worms.
That pompous scuffed tortoise-shell button
swinging from a sagging polyester lapel.
That feathered coffee stain fr...
In the edges of darkness, a fire blazes. A masking color of orange consuming the skies. Black clouds blot out the moon and stars. It spreads farther and farther, collapsing wood and bushes, consuming ...
The withered planes of aged papyrus read like shallow pools of cryptic braille.
Alleviating the curiosity of tentative fingertips, bringing history to budding flesh.
Oil paintings with grease-splotch ...
It was his birth right, what was rightfully his, it seems His spot on the throne his father once sat upon It took more than a birth right to make him King though It was his strength, his courage
Walls coloured custard with faded silk stripes,
edges eaten into threads by starving insects.
Crying from dank,
the deafening drips of porous pipes.
Billowing drapes of drowsy ...
The colossal pillars of chipped marble
Stand together like jilted lovers,
Sharing secrets in stiffness,
With fractures of glory,
And the great richness of loss,
We may fi...