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(Poems) – the closing – 106 words
Your eyes are closed and I look out the window. The sky is drowning in crimson after someone tore out my throat with their teeth. Birds fall from the sky as if flight had just been a fantasy all along. I go to the ocean and watch the fish rise to the surface bellies-up, like
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Heartland – 500 words
The blades of red grass stretched over her head. They clung wetly to her as she pressed through them, but when she checked her skin, she found no crimson stains. What little of the sky she could see was black as mold and smeared with blood. The line between day and night was arbitrary. Warm
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(Poems) – black box – 56 words
these words are just a black box on a falling plane a drowned memory in an ocean plain. lost within a trackless train. stained with blood and promises now slain. lost deep in the shade. and there in that dark place laid, is the only light I ever made. you watch as it begins to
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gone sour – 416 words
Once in a while, he runs away. The story ends like this: he comes back. He knows that, but that doesn’t stop his escapes. The story happens because of this: he doesn’t know. His life isn’t bad, lonely, or empty. What life is, not just for him, is heavy. Sometimes he feels the hairline fractures
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(Poems) – a Door inside – 112 words
the Door is as old as me.Sometimes I chip at it,And let a little through before ISlam it shut, and then I haveA story, or a poem, or a shred of somethingBigger, which I discard. i Know there is more behind it.An ocean ofSelf that I can never let through in case itDrowns me and
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gas station lovers – 1012 words
The long and bloody dance ended at that gas station at one in the morning. Anton found Jonas filling his car with shaking hands, dirty clothes, and a week’s worth of stubble turning into a beard. Not that Anton looked any better. He lingered by the ice machine, savoring his last moments with the man.
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(Poems) end credits – 86 words
There’s rolling text when I die— names who helped, names that didn’t. A startling construction of steel and thorns. Why I succeeded, why I failed. All written between the lines of those who built me. The backing music is a mocking drone. The theatre empties before the words stop. No anticipation of a legacy, no
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(Poems) – frostbite – 58 words
A path unhindered: plowed and lit framed in bright darkness. I know the way to go. But a shifting silhouette in the distance: between me and the end A lover? A killer? An end or a beginning? I go forward: trusting with eyes closed— A kiss ringed with copper on my lips. A rose-scented knife
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(Poems) – dad – 46 words
we have a long way to go. so keep the door unlocked— keep the fire burning. we won’t get lost. you showed us the way. x we remember your helping hand, your tired heart. we can see you on the horizon. our gentle mountain, our way home.
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(Poems) – first snow – 96 words
every year, winter kills autumn / with bloodlust / with joy / it steps away from the body with red hands / and cold eyes / and bruised knuckles / brother killing brother / cain and abel jealous over the life the other held / just as autumn killed summer / with cold eyes /
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(Poems) – townrot – 95 words
it’s been a year since I’ve left my hometown / or a century / the parts of me I left behind belong to someone else / and they’ve rotted by now / when I rot I do not die / I just grow thorns / I hope I’ve rotted around the throats of those who’ve
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He Who Held the Sun – 851 words
When the clouds blotted out the sun, and the ground turned black with death, the Sunholder began to build his tower. Rotting wind and doubt buffeted him day and night, but it didn’t stop him from rising the next day to continue his work by candlelight. Those few who still breathed on the earth saw
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(Poems) – achilles – 54 words
The back of my heel is bleeding. But it’s not my weakness, or my downfall. I can’t find one part of myself that’s indestructible or strong or remarkable A Greek hero that’s all heel, with no great acts to do, with no story to be told. There’s no fatal flaw here other than me.
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around the halloween tree
Malcolm gave up on the party as soon as he arrived. One look at the crowds— a menagerie of drunk witches, monsters, superheroes, and American presidents— and he was ready to leave. But his friends had had the opposite reaction. They disappeared into the mob, leaving him stranded and mercilessly titled as the designated driver.
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smilehunter
I go out into the noir sunrise, feeling the knife’s edge between summer and fall. The pavement leeches my warmth when it can’t find any in the sun. Something has gone cold and we can all feel it, even when we’re sweating. I hunt for my joy, the kind that sprints at the sight of
Sidorenko's Writing
A Library in Progress
Sidorenko's Writing 