At midnight by the cliff
Distinct — his song was laced with soil, a whiff of corpse; a destiny: his magnetism of tapered fingers, priestlike porcelain skin. She left her bed, and by the moonlit […]
Distinct — his song was laced with soil, a whiff of corpse; a destiny: his magnetism of tapered fingers, priestlike porcelain skin. She left her bed, and by the moonlit […]
Felt a need to exercise my iambic skills and give you a ghastly sonnet in Trifecta. The word today is Rusty 3a : of the color rust b : dulled […]
Writing about living in two places (and times)
Poems & Stories from The Author Stew
practising for a whole life
haikai poetry matters
Running in the slow lane
The view from here ... Or here!
“Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.” — Albert Einstein
chronicling my quarter life crisis