Upon This Road I have been walking upon this road longer than I can remember, all I know is that I am a peripatetic mosaic of tales held in place by colourful tears and granulated dreams mixed with an adhesive of pains that sear...
Read MoreThe Death of a Man My sister can look at a man and see ifthe shadow of his death colours his face.The folds of his wrinkles he earned from the sun,black like his hair, blacker than his teeth—broken,blacker than the hole where he...
Read Morethe sun will try to walk your body into fired clay as you scribble your emptiness in the pain of a dying dog. the night turns a name into a soft prayer. bodies float in streams in search of fear. silence is also broken by...
Read MoreI eased myself gently into the old, brown sofa in the sitting room, my hands on my sore back. My dirty white eyes settled on the aged brown clock hanging obediently on the wall. The seconds hand moved round and round but...
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