New Stories for August 17, 2020

Every agony and ecstasy Every pulsing, beating, breathing Moment You are a poem. Your body beloved Is Hallowed. Sometimes broken or bent, But always remember this, Always Holy, Always Healing. You are becoming. You are a poem. To continue reading “You Are a Poem” click here.

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An erasure of Chapter 69 of Moby-Dick

The body

flashes Slowly

insatiate rapacious

floats further and further

floats murderous

for hours and hours

pleasant joyous

death floats infinite

mocking mourning

life needed it

this desecrated body

nevertheless floating

Like a late summer bee diving into a bowl of pollen

He’s outside smoking beyond the thin

curtain

framing him, bridal, in the gauze of just-before-night

ecstatic blue, blazing almost neon

before thundering into black

lit ends of cigarettes as lighthouse

beacons beckoning, warning

those are scuttling, tearing rocks

His mouth is full of them

a graveyard of

stumbling blocks

a velvet viper poised and coiled

In the coals of his nicotine fired

chest there is diamond dust

that glitters up into his eyes

To continue reading “Cotton Candy Ghosts of the Pier” click here.