In the Library there are no Mirrors.
The aged librarian never gazes into mirrors; he has ceased to search for liver-spots, and he doesn’t need to know how much his skin has ceased to tightly wrap his […]
The aged librarian never gazes into mirrors; he has ceased to search for liver-spots, and he doesn’t need to know how much his skin has ceased to tightly wrap his […]
Morning water-mirrored, mountain appearation seems reversed unless you know what’s up or down; like when you read the morning paper reflecting if the world (and its words) has turned the […]
October tiptoed over too gently, bringing the fall while kissing his apples to red, singeing leaves into scarlet and rust while in yellow she rose him from sleep with fog […]
Two bodies are neither timeless nor the pair of pebbles on a lonesome shore being ground into sand. Two bodies are neither winter dusk nor the warmth of bed sheets […]
They only SCREAM with BROKEN (s)words ALL CAPS bleeding SENSE with voices syllaBLED paraBLED tied to metaphors trickling TRUTHs (through sieves of censorship) and IF you hold the KEY to […]
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