Contrast contradiction

bloodlet and boredom

image and ground grounded in

the digital paradoxy of

reality revealed

in a hi-def cacophony


creative non-

fictions unfolding in time

measured in clicks by the ghosts

tricking you into immersion with

unseen reflection resurrecting

ashes of fallen sons

and fullest moons rising

around a

perpetual horizon

bowing gracefully before

gravity’s pull


Under the Pregnant Moon

Something like bearing witness to a rape and murder

behind unbreakable glass. The air has been taken,

yet I do not suffocate. At least it doesn’t feel that way,

but I do not feel at all. Even anger and sadness escape me.

I am neither hot nor cold. Everybody’s gone,

but a ghostly reflection stares back through

from every direction horizontally.


I look up in

to the cloudless night.

A pregnant half-moon,

a trillion dead stars

make everything

clearer than day.


I look down upon my feet

an inch or two above the ground.

A lake of blood blossoms out

over the broken asphalt.

I am somehow spared the touch of the creeping fluid

spilled from the hearts of unknown men, women, and children.


Without knowing why, I expel what I expect to be a scream,

but not a whimper heard. Just a gust of icy fog that instantly



Is this reality?

Is this a dream?

Is this another place

between death and awakening?