in my hands, the inverted bottle is a head,
newly drowned, trying to suck air faster

than the liquid can be expelled.
it jerks and shudders like it’s weeping
 
or vomiting into my pea green sink.

On Leaving a Gallon of Milk Out for Six Hours

Discovering Value Through Experience 🧘‍♂️
One day, a young monk approached a Zen master and asked, “Master, what is the greatest value in my life?” The Zen master replied, “Go to the back garden, pick up a large stone, and take it to the market to s

Discover Your True Worth, A Short Lessons Story

A Shy Girl Falls In Love With Gangster”, Exploring the Rich Tapestry of Short Stories: Love, Morals, and Fun

Short Love Story A Shy Girl Falls In Love With Gangster

Speak 5 Lines to Yourself Every morning when we wake up to face the new day, we have a special chance to shape how our day will go

Speak 5 Lines to Yourself Every Morning Powerful Short Story

Two Bags 🎒of Life: The Difference of Luck and Experience.
Once upon a time, in a quaint little village nestled between rolling hills, there lived a young boy named Alex. From the moment he was a young child, Alex’s grandmother imparted upon him

Luck vs Experience Short Motivational Story in English

Three Worldbuilding Tips for Speculative Flash Fiction

At This Time a Queen Shall Be Burned

An October June

Somos la cara de la luna (We Are the Face of the Moon) 

This short story uses the tale of a man trapped in an office building's revolving door to explore life and death, fate and coincidence, and the strangely significant role that voluntary consensus standards play in modern life.

Revolving Door

The photo featured alongside the short story "Miles" is my work, the short story is not my work. 

Photography

Craft Corner: Collaborative Writing Exercises

Book review contributor in DWAS' quarterly magazine, 2021-present. First published in TARDIS, moved to Celestial Toyroom in 2024.

The New Adventurers: Ongoing Quarterly Article

V-J Day in Times Square

Charmed

There’s a big difference between wanting cancer cured and wanting to be the one who cures it.

The Short-Term Metric Mirage

We are porcelain thought and porcelain grief.

Porcelain

This poem is part of a larger collection on loss and grief. Spilling Empty Cup listens into the silence.

Spilling Empty Cup

“Limit resources, make the people compete for what’s rightfully theirs, keep them looking left and right instead of up. Zero-sum mindsets in a zero-sum machine.”

Balance

Three Poems: Tulip Poplar, Winter + The Vulture + Big Gunpowder Falls, Gingerbread Ritual, literary journal of the Self-Educating Poets Network, Vol 1.1, Boston, MA, February 2021 

"Tulip Poplar, Winter" "The Vulture" and  "Big Gunpowder Falls"

Blazer, Front Porch Review, July 2021, p.19 (PDF)

"Blazer"

Two Poems: delta + the bridge, Riverbed Review, Dublin City, Ireland, December 28, 2020, p.11 & p.45 (PDF)

"delta" and "the bridge"

The Conjuration

"The Day I Joined the Trans Running Group"

Spring Dreams

Clam

The open skylights lance
drops of sunlight that slip
through prisms and bounce
off mirrors, leaving a spill
of colour and light


Manipulating the Light

"Bullets & Butter"

"Director's Cut"

At the university graduation, a family looks unhappy

One morning, old Pepper has four again 

Wilson's Corners Is Still Buzzing About Her

CPPL 933 becomes GBBL 983

"Mistress of the Seasons (Spring's Awakening)" & "Portrait of a Soul"

Snowy Owl in a Snowy Forest

"Lost in Bygone Eras" & "Time is Gone Before It's Begun"

Reclaim

United SHE Stands 

Sell Your Heart

A Constant Craving 

You never know when you will find a dead body in an alleyway   or    when that dead body might just be you

But don't be boring 

Author Platform Follows the Work

"Instead I asked if ever you had tracked / How many twinkling stars litter the sky / While knowing dawn will come before the fact"

p. 20

constellation tattoo

"When we met in the woods, / You did not shake my hand."

p. 19

green thumb

"I borrowed your love like a library book..."

p.8

I Said I Was An Open Book

good grief i see you coming

i will not rush out to meet you 

you've walked three years 
through a ruined house to find me
holding onto sweetness going
trying to leave me 
breathless


two poems

The ocean also 

What is the matter of fact, anyway? The matter of floodplains, 
calcite, desert bloom, the insistence of light in every shadow, 
how when you wade into water you get to thinking what breaks 
upon your body bends and flows around you

three poems

first thing

to know i was not made by any man. 

unmade by any man, i am a caravan of unmothered mothers 
reaching in the pre-dawn dark toward—if not safety—
anything else. untethering from cruelty. 

i wasn't born patient—i made me this way. believing 
the black birds show me. it took believing. when i say 
i mean faith. i mean—could you look at me now and not 
say miraculous? i call you just the same. my dove. 
i am telling you. take what you lo

three crows come to my door every day. i give them peanuts.
they give me everything else—company, questions, conversation,
though it tends to stay one way. i play them buena vista social club,
they play with fire, taunting the towhees behind the rose

higher than creation, a shadow in the dogwood 
came to carve me toward the tapestry, her wings 
around my neck. 

look. again, a raven

in the thick of a row i tell my beloved 
i would like to kick his head off. 