Tag Archives: Prison


Perceptions form stale memories, which feed anticipation, expectations. The lumbering machine of time grinds on, stamping out reality.

Through the bars of the rusted gate, a garden awaits, choked with weeds. The children are gone. Our play structure verily vanished. Long evaporated echoes of shrill shouts. The stones tell no tales. Silent and damp. Forgotten. Continue reading Rust

The Painter’s Doom

The walls shifted inward, squeezed against his shoulders. Twisted in solitary confinement, the artist couldn’t escape.

He frowned at the seedling that shared his doom. The yellowed note taunted, “Painting makes free.”

A bitter laugh turned to cries. Anguishing back spasms blinded him. Continue reading The Painter’s Doom