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Willow
Published: Mississippi Crow Magazine, Fall 2009. Willow, of a specter’s dream, breatheYou fell lightly down the dew-covered wellLike a broken feather your bones whistleCaught up in the wind of your endYou forget whyWhat ironyIt dispels all that is youCrack against the dry bottomIt becomes uselessYou don’t even remember who pushed
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Lord of the Dome
“Little rats, all my little rats.” The Lord of the Dome inhaled the damp rotten air with an impish grin, staring down upon the sniffing masses of his devoted followers. “Yes, yes. Drip goes the water to the tune, no gloom, of my glorious realm.”
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The Trees of Evermore, Forevermore, Nevermore
The forest watched Jared run. He could feel their eyes on him, even if he didn't believe it. He had grown to love these woods, and today he felt a part of them. He moved among them. Under branch, over fallen tree, around bush, and across stream, he ran, more akin to the forest than a passenger under its shadowy gaze.
