Performed with Tee amara at https://www.bridgepoetry.org/
Listen here: https://soundcloud.com/bridge_poetry/bridge-v-sharon-mertins-w
Two years ago Dan Ayres, Jane Flett, Anna Geary Meyer, Tonisha Robinson, Tihana Romanic, Lesley Whitaker and Myself wrote a story together. Then we had Erin O’Loughlin edit it. We just dug it up again… It is out of control! Hah!
It began with a pencil sharpener, the one the boy used in front of her that morning. It began with the incessant turning of those blades, peeling every layer of wood around the tip, smoothing it out completely and leaving that liberating woodsy scent behind…
Continue reading at Visual Verse
If Ever Something Happens
In this house, there is always music coming from the chimney, syrup dripping where there should be coffee, spider webs decanting where there should be wine…
We’re Not Dangerous
THE BUILDING
The building used to have a decent little library. At least that is what it looks like it was. We all felt compelled to explore the remnants of it at the beginning, looking for literature that was fitting to our state of mind, convinced that if we exercised our social knowledge, filled our brains with philosophical thought, maybe we could stop whatever it was that seemed to be affecting us…
Continue Reading in Jersey Devil Press
How to Make Stories
It starts in a basement.
You and many others are sitting there, have been sitting there, for ages, listening to stories. The stories are being read by invisible voices, and they demand your attention.
The thing is, even though you don’t know it yet, you will be tested.
Continue Reading at The Wild Word
Or read it on the Wild Word Anthology, a delectable collection. You can buy it here
Suki’s Unabridged Journey to the Train of Thought
It was on a summer night that Suki jumped out of that train and into that basement, not a winter one. She remembers the stale cigarette smell, still feels it scratching the back of her throat as she talks about it.
The rooms were filled with graffiti and brimming with loud music. Suki sashayed through the narrow, smoky corridors and crowds of people, every so often wiggling her hips to the rhythm of Guantanamera…
Continue reading at Literally Stories
The Night I Died
Washing up liquid, tent, sneakers, movie soundtracks, beer…
I died last night. I have no recollection of the accident that killed me, if there actually was one, but I died. Of that I’m sure.
It’s the sound of a voice, the soft beat of a drum, an accidental touch of a stray key, a voice calling someone, or something that was heard, with the eyes, seen with sound Continue reading “SYNESTHESIA”
