SCENE I Dell is returning from a business trip and is shown tiredly walking to her car at Reagan National airport. She fumbles for her keys, unlocks the car, throws her suitcase in the back seat, collapses into the driver’s seat, shuts her door, then silence. Snow falls lightly outside her window. She starts the […]
. . . the man was a walking treasure gallery. This wasn’t the work of a cheap carnival tattoo man with three colors and whiskey on his breath. This was the accomplishment of a living genius, vibrant, clear, and beautiful. – Ray Bradbury …the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. – Walt
Body Art — Is It Really? Read More »
Scott Crockett woke up at 5 a.m. on Christmas morning, threw on some warm clothes, and took his dog Jasper for a long walk in the darkness. Jasper plunged into a few snow drifts along the way, his tail wagging and his breath creating a fine mist in the chill morning air. They played fetch
Symbiotic Suffocation: Many people have suffocating relationships. When they extricate themselves from these, many fall into the hands of dubious Consultants and Psychiatrists – ‘out of the frying pan, into the fire.’ *** David Russell is a resident of the UK. He writes poetry, literary criticism, speculative fiction, and romance. His poetry includes the collection Prickling
Symbiotic Suffocation Read More »
In the heart of winter, I contemplate my winter’s heart. Frigid days bring sinking into slush puddles against the icy wind, starting the day with cold feet, jumping into a dark car only to join the cattle call of the highway. I have to refuse this heart. My heart is elsewhere. I am consumed by
Winter’s Heart: A Sex in the Garden Essay Read More »
One late August morning, I found myself on a rugged dirt road on the east side of San Pedro Mesa, high above the Sanchez Reservoir. I was with a man I had met not two hours before. I had set up this appointment with him to discuss the concerns involving the feral and abandoned horses