Poems & Short Stories

Short Stories

The Grief Collector

Steve Kerm stepped onto the creaking
wooden porch, meeting the gentle


Lacey Jones sat at the wooden kitchen
table eating from a wood

The Stick Pin

It was a small Aescalapius’ symbol of healing, miniature snakes twined around a miniature staff, that glimmered like silver to attract

George’s Ford

George loved the beat-up sky blue ’74 Ford pickup that had seen its up’s and down’s and looked accustomed to the worst. By the time he reached the Johnsons’


Old Bill Burns had woken that morning feeling terrible, and had sat crumpled up and fetus-like on the living room carpet next to the space heater,

Immediate Seconds

Edie poured the coffee in dark channels into the coffee cup. She sat down at the table and started to sip the cheap hot liquid, her first cup of the day

The Twin

Karl Odegaard felt there was business to take care of that day beyond errands, and that there was something that needed to be completed. Below no more than a painted blue steel sign half way up a telephone pole, he passed another minute and then shifted to his right foot as he waited on the city bus. With the shift of his weight, the cloth shopping bags he carried swung out for a second and he heard the rattle of a pill bottle in his pocket, anti-psychotics that helped with the panic and the voices.


Finding Loss The Gang Lu Tragedy

Delusional, there is no fear, Police come to the door Shush all down to a Tile floor


Курить одном сигареты,
Возвратить на камены простерты на
Гвард и пол предо библиотеком.
Газет, табак, свирить


Lost to paper and emptied on a line, Ther come to exist and trail behind intent in angry slashes.

Modern Day

On the quad, the graduate library stands years old-crisp in the air with gothic architecture stone veins statues rise vertical with copper aqua roof fighting its own age


То бедн пенсионерство,
В пустине пусть квартира,
Тонкий так старще рука старец
Никогда прикасал
Едва заметил.

Coeur d Alene (A Seattle Exile)

A millions tears, a
Thousand feet below the lake so deep


Some have seen degrees of light
Spark the thoughts to
Grapple with white possibility


Time is just a shell described and scrawled a pencil compass arc, a circle route outside apartment buildings,

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