The song grew louder as the days passed. It was always there, whispering at the edges of her awareness. Eve started to hear it in places it couldn’t possibly be: on the static-laden intercom of the subway, in the shuffle of leaves on the sidewalk, in the way her coffee pot gurgled in the morning.

Her sleep suffered. At night, the melody would wrap itself around her dreams, leaving her groggy and ...

Eve didn’t know when the song first appeared in her life. It felt as though it had always been there, a ghostly hum threading through her days. It wasn’t a tune she recognized—no pop song from the radio, no childhood lullaby. Just a strange, mournful melody that clung to her like fog on a winter morning.

At first, she thought it was in her head. She’d hear it in the quiet moments, like when she w...

There’s a joke that ends with — huh?

It’s the bomb saying here is your father.

Now here is your father inside

your lungs. Look how lighter

the earth is — afterward.

To even write father

is to carve a portion of the day

out of a bomb-bright page.

There’s enough light to drown in

but never enough to enter the bones

& stay. Don’t stay here, he said, my boy

broken by the name...

**Always that spectral fragment. Filament of line cast back there.**

_Where open-mouthed fish rise to gulp down shiny lures._

 

**_I sang once in an auditorium to almost empty rows._**

_I looked for my people in the seats, under the seats, behind_

**the seats, but they weren’t there. I called the three people**

_who were there to come up and introduce themselves._

They were young aspirants. A

Th...

In the dim light of their cramped studio apartment, Mia tossed a crumpled paper at the wall, missing the trash bin by inches. Alex, sprawled across the worn-out sofa, barely glanced up from their phone.

"I don't think about that," Mia mumbled, more to herself than to Alex, as she contemplated the looming deadline of her art project.

"You don't think about anything," Alex retorted without missing...

At first there's no lake in the city, at first there are only

elevators, at first there are only constricting office desks;

there are small apartments and hamburger joints and

unpaid telephone bills. Then a few nightclubs appear and

eventually the lake disinters. At times there's a highway

and a car and friends in a snowstorm heading nowhere but

back to the city and Sarah Vaughan is singing ...

Come live with me and be my love,

And we will all the pleasures prove,

That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,

Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the Rocks,

Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks,

By shallow Rivers to whose falls

Melodious birds sing Madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of Roses

And a thousand fragrant posies,

A cap of flowers, and a kirtle

Embroide...

Once upon a time in the quirky town of Whimsyville, there lived a young inventor named Oliver Widget. Oliver was known for his peculiar gadgets and gizmos that often left the townsfolk scratching their heads in bewilderment. One sunny afternoon, Oliver stumbled upon a mysterious antique pocket watch at the local flea market. Little did he know, this wasn't an ordinary timepiece.

As soon as Oliver...