Each breath an ensemble,a thousand silent strings plucked by the wind.The low cello hum of lungs, the sharp flute of air,the sighing oboe of a body in rest.And somewhere in the current,the base of the earth vibrates beneath,bending the...

...the moon a pale bone coagulating insomnia a thud of memories excommunicating nostalgiatrapped in a bottle of rum, suffocating meas I lay me down to sleep, whispering to genie 

"Bless his naive heart," she whispered into the darkness, a phrase as soft and sharp as a scalpel's edge. It was an old southern comfort meant to pity the foolish, but she had drained it of all warmth, leaving...