The grass is going brown already, but I won’t water it. I hadn’t laid on it yet, on my back with the dog in the sun, afternoon wine, nothing to do, nowhere to be. Like the August we went to… Read More ›
to hell with summer
Clouds meet like lovers
You can see the inevitable setup as they start from opposite ends: These two, sure to meet amid the others, drawn together by some force either atmosphere or fate Slow-motion as they touch, a gradual loss of each other once… Read More ›
When slice-of-life doesn’t cut it anymore
Eyes closed, on my back, losing touch with my position in space. Voices passing outside the door, in the hall. Someone pushing a cart. Someone running water. Can’t feel my hands, can’t move my feet. Mind is awake. I can… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 