A Man to a Tree, on Building a Treehouse

Friend tree,
I come to you with implements of construction
to pierce your side
with steel spikes long as those held Christ on the cross

I ask your forgiveness
perhaps your indulgence
and promise I will make it as quick and clean as I can
for your sake
and for those of my children.

I have three of them
Thick as my fingers, long as both hands held together
and a drill
given to me by my mother's father
Still mighty from the age of war machines.

I bought you at great price
knowing I would do this to you.
not for the salvation of all men
but for the enjoyment of my children.

I'll be right back

Away Laughing into the Blue

Shush

It was the end of the world, and everybody knew it.
In the streets below, parties, riots and orgies burned as people sought each other out to reunite, kill as needed, and die.
In a dark apartment high above, a quiet sniffle, and a hesitant wail grew louder as a weary mother rose to cradle, shush, and rock her newborn back to sleep. Klaxon cries were muffled by the warmth of a breast and as eyes drifted closed
with contented clucks and swallows both sat by the muted blue of the window and longed for sleep before the coming dawn.



* * *

I just got word that this is going to be published on the Drabblecast sometime soon. Very cool.

Washed Out

Design your own luck

This is a cover I'm working on, and I'm curious to see what people think of it. Comment away!

Sketch of a man

He was a man that drank deep of the darkness, whether it was his beer, or the swinging pendulum of his moods and tastes, and his pleasant demeanor and smile still closed his eyes in sadness just long enough to notice, like a sound that you think you heard, but don't mention, because you're sure no one else heard it.