Posted by PrachyaReview | Feb 11, 2017 | Poetry |
House of Shadows I stand upon a threshold of a house haunted by promises, empty and fruitless, inhabitants hide in long shadows, a gray film of ignorance covers their eyes, slugs slither up the inside of their arms, stopping...
Read MorePosted by PrachyaReview | Feb 11, 2017 | Poetry |
The Phases of Sleep My dog sickles and rounds in my bed. No almanac predicts his phases; I learn by feel. When he curls a perfect circle, I sleep well, feet warmed by his glow. Round dog means a harvest of dreams. But when he...
Read MorePosted by PrachyaReview | Feb 11, 2017 | Poetry |
Rondeau in Winter “like a worm, was I wrapt round and round” Edward Young A feather on the Polished marble floor Of the train station Life in another room...
Read MorePosted by PrachyaReview | Feb 11, 2017 | Poetry |
Lycanthropes She told me, she fears the night for then, all banished monsters retreat out of nowhere, recycled into the mind: daylight guilt drift in as swans in swarms, offshore to roost. Werewolves of be slain thoughts...
Read MorePosted by PrachyaReview | Feb 11, 2017 | Story |
There was once a girl who lived near the ocean. At night she loved to walk along the ocean shore and gaze at the moon and stars. She wished the nights would last forever. So it was that whenever the sun rose in the morning the...
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