Poetry and ProseIt's possible to have both in one short story? What do you think? Sunflowers Their heads had turned down. The seeds were dropping, my...
Your Lovers Footsteps on the StairThe cold, low winter sun falls red upon the stair. It’s like this every afternoon, late, when I’m alone. Before the sky turns black I...
Abort! Abort!Abort! Abort! The tide was out; humidity settled wet and heavy over Silvio Caro. The Asp, a cigarette boat carved from a solid billet of...