A.G.E's Joint

  He disappeared a long time ago Chasing demons along the avenue Always scorned No empathy Sympathy A life thrown away By his own choices? A puzzle maybe It's hard to say. Just another body Sweltering in the swampy sun Hoping for alms Hoping for love

  It's been a year Since that awful night Came thundering down the gorge The spirits of the good boys The good girls Washed into the muck  The damage was too great The remains had to go Too much of a dangerous attraction To the Social Media ghouls Chasing clicks Over their Starbucks lattes. 

The old house creaked like a ship struggling against a rogue wave. Outside, the storm was an orchestral menace—rain hammered the roof in frantic bursts, and the wind howled through the narrow chimney flue, sounding less like air and more like a human sob. In the living room, Eliza huddled closer to the dying fire, but the warmth felt thin and temporary. Her gaze kept drifting to the dark, intricate doll house that dominated the corner of the room. It wasn't merely a toy; it was a museum piece, a perfect, miniature replica of the very house she sat in, built over a century ago. Tonight, with every lightning flash, she could swear the tiny windows of the dollhouse reflected the exterior storm with unsettling realism—the miniature curtains seemed to flutter in the nonexistent draft. The clock struck midnight. Simultaneously, a jarring noise cut through the relentless drumming of the rain. It wasn’t a thunderclap, but something mechanical and distorted, like music played through a br...

  It began with a song Of hope Not to be The sky lit up Calamity came down The reign of terror had begun Someone screamed Wake me up inside Away from this phenomenon Instead they became My Immortal

 Cyberspace The final frontier... No, it's not. It's a time sucking robot Leading down the primrose path The 21st Century Schizoid man Working for the puppermaster Selling out data And our souls  To the highest bidder.

The small woman stood in front of the mirror, studying what she had become. Stronger. Still standing. The reflection of headlights in the bedroom mirror startled her like it had so many nights. Elena laughed and twirled a copper strand of hair into a braid. The news of Gregory’s death came in a headline she almost didn’t read. They called him generous. Visionary. A loss to the business world.  Should she dance? Trip the light fantastic on the news? She didn’t feel relief. Not exactly. Death, especially a natural one, was too easy. Too clean. Gregory never saw the eyes of those he hurt. It was all beneath him.  The way he smiled, like he owned the air you breathed. The way he touched her shoulder in meetings. The threats. The promises. She went to Julian after the weekend at the hotel. It was more of a confession of her sin rather than Gregory’s  Averted eyes told her all she needed to know. Power protects itself. While Julan knew she had been wronged, he wouldn’t offer a ...