Twenty-eight years of drought, and by god! I’m blooming! They call it the well-spring of youth– but I’ve found my well dry, until now. The facets of your mind found the faucet of mine, and I’m flooding with feels. *painting: Nature at Dawn by Max Ernst

"Argus" by Salvador Dali

There was a red beetle in the bathtub. It looked like a little drop of blood, making its ascent upward—defying gravitational laws—and I can’t remember when I pricked my finger on a thorn touching a thing of such beauty before. The tear-drop of crimson looked tidy and neat against the porcelain and I stood there […]

It was a city of strip malls and strip mining. The landscape, lazy rolling hills and flat stretches of corn, tobacco, soy beans. Identical brick houses with white columns and decorative shutters dotted the scene every mile or so. Closer to town the houses stood in stifling order,  lined up like an image in a […]

unraveled

There were two mailmen who delivered to the shop. A coin toss. Friendly and unfriendly. The friendly one had a long blonde ponytail. You could tell how he set the mail on the counter he took pride in his work. I wondered if he counted his steps between businesses, thought of his breathing in a […]

beth hoeckel

There was a complacent sense of agency in doing the dishes by hand. One had only to turn the tap to a reasonable temperature, reach for the soap and a sponge and exist in the moment. Doing the dishes, much like doing the ironing, allowed one to see (unlike so many things in life) the […]

luna-burne-jones

    Sometimes I require the gentle quietude of an evening. A moment of solace. A poem. Sometimes I require the soft pulling of blades of a ceiling fan Draping me in the midnight silk of night, Away from the chaotic pulling of others thoughts, Fleeting, Fickle, Feckless.     *Painting: “Luna” — Sir Edward […]

witch-broomstick

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”   I’ve heard this saying countless times in my 28 years of life. It is commonly paraphrased as such, and has been in use since the late 1600s when William Congreve wrote the words, “Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury […]

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