Category: prose
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31 Aug: MicroDosing 90µg
Passing Days The days bled together,like watercolour sagging in the rain.She tried to tack them down —a mug’s steam,the slant of three o’clock light —but they wriggled free,slippery as minnows. What lingered was only sensation:a Tuesday’s ghosted-warmth,a Thursday’s pale chill.And the uneasy thoughtthat time was being smuggled forward,hand to hand,like contraband in plain sight —precious,…
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27 Aug: Where You From, Then?
Where Are You From Then? Aura — Episode One (A Six Sentence Story) Päiviö Clartz had lived above the Co-op for three winters, long enough for most people to forget he wasn’t from here — except when he spoke, or cooked fish in the mornings, or wore that thick Nordic jumper with snowflake shoulders and…
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26 Aug: Aura’s Introduction
Introducing Aura A new Six Sentence Story series told through the wind’s own voice starts tomorrow. Aura is the breeze that stirs laundry on the line and slips beneath doors — a watcher, a whisperer, and the memory that lingers when the moment is gone. Set in a small English village, Aura follows Päiviö (a…
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25 Aug: Ruinlit – The Liturgy
17 of 27: The Liturgy for Ruinlit – Courage Mistaken for Recklessness I. The EdgeNot chaos—but its twin:the flicker at the blaze’s hem,where air whispers nowand earth hisses no. Ruinlit is the step takenwhen the choice is burn or run.You will blister.But you will not bend. II. The GlintThey call it madness—this fire in your…
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20 Aug: MicroDosing 100 µg
What Remains When the River Leaves The boy’s blue balloon escaped at the fair, and for three days it floated—over wheat fields, a highway slick with rain, the chimney where it bobbed, hesitant, in the rising heat. On the fourth day, it settled in the branches of a winter-bare oak. A crow pecked it once.…
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18 Aug: Aetherskein – The Liturgy
16 of 27 (Aetherskein) – The Poem – (The Fragment from the Unseen Loom) 16 of 27 The Liturgy for AetherskeinThe Book of 27, Fragment: The Unseen Loom I. The ThreadNot coincidence—a conspiracy of grace.Aetherskein glints where you almost look,where the light bends just so,where the crow drops the same coinin three cities,in three lifetimes,into…
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18 Aug: After the Sway of Summertime
Louis Armstrong’s Ghost is on the Porch Swing(a poem after the sway of Summertime) Heat drips like honeyfrom the sleepy F of the trumpet,your hips unspoolinga blue notebetween a screen door slamand a cricket hymn. Piano keys stickto the backs of your knees,while a bass line digs a gravefor all the unlived livespooling in your…
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16 Aug: We’ve Misplaced Friday Again
For days when reality misplaces itself and the crows are only too happy to explain why. We’ve Misplaced Friday Again Then let’s be thievesof child-logic today.Let’s pocket the gravel sparkles,argue with cloudsuntil they huff into rabbits. Let’s declare our shadowsvery good listeners(even when they yawn).Let’s whisper the wildest poems —and kneel in the grass to…
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15 Aug: MicroDosing 150 µg
The Keeper of Lost Things – Micro-dosing 150µg (150 words) The drawer was narrow, oak-lined, and smelled of camphor and the kind of winters people used to name. Inside: a brass key, a single pearl earring, and a postcard from Marseille—unsigned, unclaimed. Each morning, Mrs. Havelock touched them with care, her fingers reading their weight…
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14 Aug: A Slow Detonation
A Slow Detonation I. Imprisoned Stone frames a freedomthat swallows every horizon whole.Iron teeth bite shut the sky,keeping light’s whispers out.Here, the freedom is absence,and absence is forever. II. A Slow Detonation Poem Power is the liethat fits their fist, that names the bruisenecessary. That tells the wound —this is right. Their boots don’t care.March.March…
It's Still Life 