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Free Hand #34
Moss gathers and the trees grow. Under the pale blue sky. In the summer time, the heart flows upwards and…
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Free Hand #33
I spoke words, that dripped and dewed across your head. As you laid there, waiting for the sun to rise, waiting…
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Free Hand #32
The sky buckles under the pressure space pulls us into a void. Sun envelops itself, swells and becomes something grander,…
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Free Hand #31
Books stacked high. The pages slip out, slip through, into the the room, piling up on the floor, the bed,…
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Dinner: Flash Fiction Series #5
“He hums to himself sharpening his knives. Her voice echoes down the hall…”