Snow particulates surround the crispy aftermath of a blanket storm,
pines bear the weight of thunderous white clouds, whilst,
precipitation undermines winter’s grasp,
a choke hold on vines in a spectacular village in Tuscany,
grasping the gregarious quality of oneself,
it is the understatement of conditioning that interests the body.
Entitled, falsely inside her tragedy,
warm sunsets in Tuscany revive her soul, whence it never existed.
Jesus, what have I really done?
Mother, your sold sold me down the river,
shook the underground of my father’s reclusive end.
Cold apparitions beat inside this chest,
lungs battle with desire for love, it…
Contrived in a circle of eventuality,
sacrilege in proclivities of money and glee,
perhaps little by little we become the grown, our self- ideal,
dressing for the occasion, concerns wash away in the sea of disruption,
always usurping the chaotic.
Consistency above the fallen shows their determination,
your-self becomes a memory…
As I take over Storymaker, I am quickly made aware that I am in need of editors. Namely, a prose and short story editor. Our last prose editor Michael Stang did a fantastic job, and I am hoping we will see him back. I would like to separate…