#micro tale

Meeting her was a heart consuming experience… I used a spoon.

she wears poetry in her eyes

The world fell asleep last night; insomniacs found a rhythm and syncopated, children phantomed fog cities in the trees, lovers puzzle-fit their bodies and caught their breaths, animals, domesticated and wild alike, nested and denned in the absence of alarm.  As the world slumbered, the oceans inhaled and with every exhale gained fathoms, crested miles, until every suffocated cityscape, each stratospheric mountain peak, and colossal redwood were submerged; leviathans for a fraction of a second.  For a glimpse of time, all of life was reembraced by a caul of intuition, all life reverted to an in utero state of breathing, and every cell of every existence sounded back the beat of The Mother's heart.  Peace; the whale song and doppler pulse of currents, sonogram moonlight, and the momentary silence of an extinction.  By morning the oceans receded, back to lapping their shores, and the world woke to a water stained earth, as if rain secreted in the night.  Everything seemed as it always had, the people fell into their daily routines without a question or suspicion, and the problems that weigh heavy continued to plague.  But the sun radiated a warmth that lit an inkling of the night's truth to all; a faint primordial scent of origins and amniotic dreams, an awakening of sense, that cautioned a nightmare, that keepsaked a hope: the seed of kind planted in a reverie, the premonition of lot in the escalation of real time.

Read my short story The Chase

It was dawn with a light breeze and I could say it as a winter eve. I stood there looking at the watch nervous and waiting for the person as he approached me. It was the first time in months I went out with the person. As he approached, He winked and waved at me. I knew the trouble I was getting into with that damn smile.

The Seamstress: A Micro Story