MONOLOGUE: Death in the Afternoon
[This was one of two pieces written for Helix Collective’s Cocktail Stories, which featured monologues and original music inspired by, relating to, or revolving around cocktails. The other one I wrote, “Sazerac,” was a big hit (so I’m told), but this one (inspired by both the cocktail and the Hemingway book of the same name)…
POETRY: Icaria
She’s bedeviled by legaciesBut she knows how to use them,Grasping at starsIn the heaven of dead Presidents… She says there are precedents… Ascending in dissentFrom my low-lying vision,She makes vaults in thin air,Unfixing the firmament, Looking down on comeuppance… What’s the gravity of scienceAgainst one penny’s wisdom?All my “Wait’s” and “You’ll see’s”More odious than absence……
From THEORIA: A Triptych
[NOTE: As the titles suggest, this was intended to be Part I of a three part story. Parts II and III currently exist in a variety of unfinished, malformed and ill-conceived drafts and, in all honesty, will probably never see completion. I have often wondered whether this first section could stand on its own. Whether…
POETRY: Uncollected (2016-2020)
MEDEA Medea me dijo a mediodía,‘Eres medio malo y más.’Vi a su marido morir en el marAgarrando su masa de medallas. ‘Mis manos no están mojadas (le dije),No soy el monstruo que le mató.¿Pero merece mi misericordiaCuando no renuncia a su oro?’ ‘Tu justicia no mitiga mi miseria.Tu melodía se mofa de mis lamentos.Te has…
POETRY: Amor I & II
I. Immortal Love never dies (she says)And does not lie. Lovers die.At the hands of love. Love Whose thick-fingered embraceWraps the stem of throat (Stained and scarred by kisses Unforgettable)Choking breath and bloodFrom her tear-streaked, ashen face. Love Whose strength of presenceSwells his bludgeon heart (Bruised and beaten in her absence Unbearable)To grow…
POETRY: Anonym
(I) Dedication Your heart, I miss…My art, amiss…Oh, Artemis,Pardon this. (II) Crescent A photograph:The heart-shaped flesh of your face has hollowed.The full-figured warmth of your smile has narrowed.The mischief of girlish dimples grown shallow.Realization rendered in shadow. Is it yours? This artless portraitOf stagnancy in time?This ill-starred isolationOf what has come to pass (Only…
POETRY: Cemetery II, IV, V, and VI
II Perched with blessed wings on stoneIn wasted vigil.The humbling of grievous rain. An angel’s mourning. Prayer’s diseased discharge drips dryFrom sacred eyes:Supplication’s anguished sleepStained with hallowed names. Gathered gouged and glamorousIn slipshod worship.The trembling of idol hands. A devil’s playground. Last rites laughed loose-lipped and leftIn tomb’s neglect.Commemoration’s unclean woundInfected with despair. Slumped, with…
POETRY: Spring I-III
I. Spring Sonnet In this spring of April’s cruelest daysAnd lilacs in the dooryard bloom’d once more,This life that lay reposed in winter clayIn weary resurrection is restored.Reborn again to rise in falling rain,These roots are not renewed; they run too deep.For though my face is drenched, my heart is drained.My tears will salt the…
SHORT STORIES: Inside the Box
I live in a box. It’s a small box. At times, it’s not an especially comfortable box. And there was a time in my life when all I could think about was getting out. But I’ve been here for such a long time, now… Maybe it’s a little confining. Maybe I can’t stretch out in…
FLASH FICTION: The Lord’s Prayer
There is nothing I can do. There was a time when, perhaps, I could have gotten involved. Changed things. But no longer… Still… I watch them now and wonder if I made a terrible mistake. They talk about bringing life into the world as though it were never less than beautiful. And it is beautiful.…
SHORT STORIES: Ruined
Remainder Insofar as I remember anyone. Insofar as anyone really remembers anyone… As some psychologist or other (I can’t remember which one… Ha…) determined, our memory – despite what we might like to believe – is not so much a computer database as a compost heap. Remembering is less recollection than resurrection, and we all…
SHORT STORIES: Performance Anxiety
They make you believe. That what you’re seeing is real. That the person you’re seeing is the person they actually are. For a performance to work, you need to feel like you’re seeing a real person experiencing real life: feeling real sensations, real emotions. Their responses and reactions need to seem genuine. It’s the only…
PLAYS: Send in the Clowns
(A hotel room. Impersonal and nondescript. One double bed. Two bedside tables. A dresser, possibly with a small television on top of it. Banal artwork on the walls. A prosaic space designed to accommodate anyone and fit no one. Stage right is a door leading to the bathroom, which is offstage. A suitcase and an…
PLAYS: All There Is
(A hotel room. Upscale, but sterile. Blank, white comfort. Versatile fixtures and decor. As the lights come up, a cellphone is vibrating ceaselessly on the bedside table, accompanied by an abrasively cheery ringtone. LAURA BLOOM, late 30’s, is slumped heavily in a deep, cushioned chair across the room, willfully ignoring it. Despite her relatively youthful…
Hope springs eternal…
New stories delivered directly to your inbox.
Hopeful Monsters 