Always something amiss blue frost sweeping the edge of a hard north wind An open wound Festers in the flutter of consciousness a patient soul…
Author: broussardlana
One day they took a man And put him in a box Asked him to fold the vertices into truths ‘Can you map a path…
The desert at night is vibrant with seething, shifting hotbeds of sand The highway is a green-eyed panther stalking the night A mirage ahead…
The back of a poor person’s house is peeling like a black economy like someone locked the dark ghost inside mold stalks along the perimeter…
Mr. Sandman…
My infatuation with Jean Jacques Rousseau goes way back I loved him long before I conjured him drinking in the glory of his soft curls,…
Hello Everyone. I have a story on the site, WriteSpike. It’s about a guy who has temp job digging in the desert one day. What…
We will end the summer
with a terracotta sunset
just before
the sky seeks diversion
in darkening clouds
At last, spilling out
a long-sought summer rain
showering down
tap, tap, tap
drops of water
upon windows and walks
And down the street
Dina’s old air conditioner hums
a final baritone salute
to the season of the sun
The man who now lives
in Tom’s old house
packs his electrical supplies
ready for the 7 AM grind
speeding his Chevy down
Avenue H
reeling from
bottomless well drinks
and finite sleep
The Scribe of Grant Street
turns to his pen
and begs it not to scribble
the truths of sad nations
or the heartbreak of dead seasons
but rather to forge ahead
and record the sounds of
the living, breathing neighborhood
the exclamations of Connie on the corner
dissing the sorority tarts
as the postman sloshes
split, splat through
the impending rainfall
Today is … sunlight streaming through cottage windows as a silver tabby long and lean reclines on the twisted colors of a braided rug in…
Imagine looking for your grandma and finding her floral caftan with matching pink furry slippers, the floral citrus smell of Channel #5 still hanging in…