Why do I write?

It’s different every day. Today, for instance, I feel like an entire hive at work within me. Bees have partitioned my bones into their waxy cubicles. Their buzzing is the backdrop rhythm of a city in motion and my thoughts are a sweet elixir on my throat. Writing lets me do this; pour honey from …

Rejected

Well, they pulled the trigger and I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s hard to think what I have to say is important when every letter has “sorry to inform you” in the second line. What am I supposed to do with that? Pull up the planks of those sentences and nail together a raft as …

Reflections on Self

I press into the mirror, but there’s a gap between my fingertip and its reflection. I guess it’s the glass covering the polished silver-skin, like a window between me and the otherside. Invisible, impenetrable. Ignorable and imminent. I heard if you saw yourself on the street, you wouldn’t recognize the bend of your jaw, the …

Loveliness

A bloom of ladybugs is called a loveliness, I think as a tear streaks across my face like a firework scream in the open, July sky. A loveliness. My mom bought a swarm of them once. Let them loose on a golden chain tree bejeweled with aphids. Turned the right way, those green lice hummed …