Moon Cactus

I dreamt of you, again. It’s been years, but in my sleep I recalled every feature of your fine pale face, and the guttural tone of your voice. I could smell you; I held my breath against the scent of menthol ciggies and gin and tonic sticking to your saliva.   I spent the night…

yes girls-Mela Blust

in steel country, in coal country daddy drove a truck and mama prayed good girls laid on our backs; we crushed our wings we let the machete of a slick man’s voice clear cut the thicket of our wombs we let the wet slick cries of a hungry thing slowly drain the fire from our…

The Sins of My Father – Christine E. Ray

I have always been a dreamer. Waking hours filled with daydreams of a younger, more vibrant self living other, more exotic lives that take the edge off the stupor of middle-age suburbia. Sleeping hours filled with images of places I have been before that morph and change, nightmarish Wonderlands, and places I have never been…