“There was no beauty like the stars. No brighter jewel. No higher dream. My gaze was fixed on planets far, running toward a single theme of galaxies and things that are wove deep between the cosmic seams….”
Category: Short Story
The Voice of Moss
“My voice had burrowed in a tree, shaped like a small gray mouse…” A short, rhyming, fairy tale.
The Grim
Breathing in, the Grim did say, “Come now to meet your end.” “I cannot die,” I said. I said. “I cannot die,” I said.
Dinosaur Fondue Poetry 