A guitar with a sad sound creates a shadow with a soul a spirit song blending within the air in a room on the second floor overlooking traffic where the usual stick figures battle below within the stream of unremembered faces lacking interest yet directing themselves forward to the store or the corner some returning … More SECOND FLOOR


Her lipstick is the blood red of a days end. Draining slender fingers claw for heaven, stirring muddy the floor under the pearly gates. The jazz she breathed rattled high around the edges of her cup of years; the roulette wheel fails to let her secure a winning. The wrong of her makes the pain … More HER SONG TOUCH