Millie and Adela waggle their tow-sacks through the stile, grazing the beech hedge as if they were moony golden sheep instead of moony dun girls meant to be sharp-eyed, not dozy and slack, watching for bits of fluff, flimsy in the scraggly brush. They trod on silver thistle, quaking grass,
Written with an artificial intelligence word list generator. 1. the magic of technology long ago the solemn presence warned night purplish black crystal traveling what remembered his name not even hope was there the winged edge falls out the globe many centuries since magic still lingered but technology prevailed steel
When Viviann Ruiz isn’t working as a library assistant they can be found drawing either in their local park or at home. Taking artistic inspiration from movies and video games. Most of their art can be found at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Everything dies. From the ant you just stepped on to the chickens being slaughtered down the road. Everything dies. Everything dies. They say you’ll go on, live after. They have no proof. It’s probably lies. Desperate wanting. Everything dies. Everything dies. From your favorite TV show to your secret dream.
When the male witches flew into the river they made a male raft, an enclosed circle of men, and spat from their shoulders, spinning like a wheel. We chased after them over many bridges, their lips like lilies opening, as they swiftly swept through river towns. I caught the attention
“Consider what is required,” said Gregor, “for something to be deemed a fact. There must first be a world, in some sense of world, to ground this thing called fact. How could the fact ‘water freezes’ be a fact without the existence of water? How could the fact ‘there are
I skulk around the gemmy corners of the emerald mausoleum and sift the twinkling dirt through the veil of my unnatural hand, as if memories of sentience were enough for me to hold the insubstantial grandeur of our lofty and unseemly dreaming. Never was I bold enough to challenge his
People warned that the creek was magical yet none could describe the sorcery of it people warned that the creek in the forest was magical but magic is not real it’s a supposition to frighten children, a myth created by people a surmise woven by folklore certainly not real. People
CENTO 1: MY ECHOING COUNTRY (Marrying Neruda’s Love Poems with Rukeyser’s Book of the Dead mining disaster poems) In love you have loosened yourself like seawater. Or uneasy, wounded by me. In my body, bells, dove wings with eyes tired of my echoing country and its thrust of live coals,
Beth Babbitt’s parents died after an airplane slid off the runway in Chicago because of ice buildup. By the time they were gone, she was already grown, living alone in a floor-through apartment in downtown Manhattan. All there was to do was call the family lawyer. There was no funeral,