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Your Heart is a Tomb (a prose poem)
Your mind is a pyramid, your mouth the coffin … The rubies of your lips are sealed like a casket, silent as the grave that guards the ghosts of your youth. I, I will brave the curses you cast on those...
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The Sleep Seller (Flash Fiction)
In another time and another place lives a man who sells sweet solace. Every child thinks his father is the most important man in the land, but my father truly is. He is the Afterdark Apothecary, for...
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Skinned, Alive (Flash Fiction)
In another time and another place lives a man who was born a unique case, for he had no flesh on his face nor anyplace else on his frame. Worse than thin skinned and bearing no shield against the...
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Heaven Noël (Christmas in Paris)
The derelict’s loose fitting clothes accentuated his scrawny frame and were as stained and patchwork as his scraggly beard. The brisk wind swept him like refuse down the sidewalks of Paris, with his...
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Door Ways (Flash Fiction)
The best way to find something is not to look for it. On that day, Eddy wasn’t looking for trouble. He was walking past the Louvre when he ran into the door that waited in an archway beside the...
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Paris has green eyes (a prose poem for the Promenade plantée – Paris)
Promenade Plantée / Viaduc des Arts (Paris) Paris Has Green Eyes Paris has eyes greener than the absinthe green of sweetened dreams, deeper than the Guimard green of Metro scenes and clearer than the...
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Dayiwul Lirlmim (a dreaming story)
“Dayiwul Lirlmim” by Lena Nyadbi The Barramundi was the most beautiful fish in the river. Her scales were large and bright and she beamed proudly as they glistened in the sunlight trickling though the...
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Back Burn (Flash Fiction)
Under a white hot sun, the young man towering over her daughter yelled at the child until his face burned fire-engine red. Viviane stood too stunned to act as the flames of this stranger’s anger...
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The Human Zoo (a prose poem from Paris)
The Human Zoo I saw the man there, every day. He came to the Ménagerie in his tight gray suit with a packed lunch and sat on the bench that faced the elephant’s enclosure. Whatever the weather, Monday...
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Gone with the tide (a prose poem from Paris)
Gone with the tide They rely on our fear, be we will not hide our eyes. Instead, we will look up and stare them down until they see we are not blind. They thrive on our apathy, but we will not throw...
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