A free verse poem — “Doubt everything. Find your own light.” -Gauthama The Lord Buddha One glass bottle half-empty flung in full-rage discharges instantly with shattering’s soulless shriek upon stone wall, into countless shards catching light of sunset slivers briefly, then nothing; only silence. No guidepost, no sightlines, save for lone unseen ricochet slicing cheek …

A free verse poem — Forgive me, Yemọja. I’ve lost my way; our Mother’s face long lost to strange currents; Please shine favor upon this wayward soul, show me the way to you; towards myself. No one ever said anything about life’s frothy wake dovetailing into null; about how contentious, roiling topics, once overflowing with…

Speculative fiction — Erik frantically keyed in his access code, hastily donned the blackened visor of his VM-Viz, and jacked into a new session, breezing through parameters as if on autopilot. Per his specs, a holographic construct of a middle-aged woman appeared before him with a neutral, empathetic smile. He meticulously included every…

A prose poem — Ol’ Blue expands high into the air as wide as she is high, dwarfing all life within a half mile, while simultaneously sprouting extensive tendrils of leaves sweeping low as if to catch each wild strand of wind beneath massive boughs, the scent of spring combing her willowed tresses, shushing…

A dysfunctionally erotic hybrid poem — We fucked, sucked, licked, and swallowed all that afternoon, oppressive late summer heat be damned. We fucked each other slick, sweaty, and sticky, like there was an urgent race to the bottom of the climax. We fucked because it was the thing we were best at. Because we’d never been…

A free verse poem — Say I chew desire as comfort food, and calm water swallowed here is tomorrow’s explosion. Say whatever incantation you will, spilling forth, frothing from waning breath, manifesting false comfort in coming ever so close to knowing what lies unknown. Know that I’ve only ever lingered here among shards of our…

A villanelle —

A free verse poem — You bleed and you cry and you age and everything that is you is real while I am but a reflection; a facsimile of all that is divine within you. Perhaps that which is born from you within me shall never die, but I would gladly die a thousand times…

A triolet —