A raven visits me, like Poe.Continue reading
Tree branches gather ‘round my neck.Continue reading
He eats souls, leaves us bone-dry.Continue reading
My ghost wanders the city’s streets.Continue reading
Most times, my dreams aren’t profound, nor do they make much sense. Dream-logic, I’m told, never does. But this dream felt different. My father appeared on the football field of my youth. In life, he was a short man. But in this dream, he towered over me.
He wore denim dream-jeans, faded blue, and ripped at the knees. He smoked a giant dream-cigarette, and the smoke billowed like it was from a power plant. His dream-muscles were large and imposing, like Zeus’.Continue reading
The old man speaks of phantoms. He lay on his death-bed, and his face is ashen and sickly.
“Our home,” he says, “it’s haunted. Haunted by my sins. Haunted by my father’s sins, and his father’s sins.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.Continue reading
This is the entry-point to heaven.Continue reading
Out at sea, monsters circle us.Continue reading
“Don’t look down!” the skydiver screams.Continue reading
In my dreams, I’m buried alive.Continue reading