The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Notes to Go West OnWords by Tom Pescatore QuailBellMagazine.com notes to go west on and the final history of tall tale bottom of the world:
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Morning Sorrow, May I Crawl Beneath You This Timeonce
when I was young I was never young once The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
HighwayThe black ribbon of roadway,
fading to the gray of a fine pencil line, waves away into the foothills, until it's at last erased by mountains burnished in the dying sun. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Money Is The Wrong ColorSad and strange
That money Is the same color As lush forest Or rolling hills and fields The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
May 8, 8:30 p.m.The half-moon shines momentarily
from behind clouds and is covered once again; to the west the crests of the ten hills are crimson, the bloody death of day. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
CoresThere, in the center of
my forehead lives a nongendered being, bored with just being nongendered The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
VincaFor a long time I could only feel shame.
I could not walk under the trees, bare of leaves. They did not hide me. The stars above were uncovered. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Lessons in ImpermanenceWords by Dana Chiueh Image by Isabella Ronchetti QuailBellMagazine.com *Editor's Note: This has been previously published in Moledro Magazine. I would paint you if it meant I could keep you like that forever
in a state of effervescence and earnestness i remember the way you looked at me, in the moment forgetting all the heartache and isolation and sorrow The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Furtive
He is the word personified -- elderly, balding, shoulders stooped under the beige windbreaker. Furtive. The man's pale eyes dart to us and away and back again as he skulks behind his equally elderly wife. We are among the racks in the bra section of J. C. Penney. |