A Collection of Prose and Photography
A seam is not a place, not a space, rather a void, like a borderline — not a destination but a fabrication of the imagination. Tear the pieces apart, slash every last stitch and the seam no longer exists — a momentary blip. Not a thing to hold, but to behold; and if I could... Continue Reading →
Look at that smile, been a while since it had last been seen. Had to hop off the wheel. So we swapped one coast for another — left the kids with your mother and bid a fond fair well to the Atlantic. Flew three thousand miles to walk ten more, a tour of the shore... Continue Reading →
Quilted stratus, high above my troubles, Roseate, heralding the breaking day. I in lonesome quilted blanket huddle, Sallow, darkness’s cover fades to gray. — Unburd’ning pines cast needle tines aside. Aimless zephyrs cut wild ‘cross the meadow. Laden I lay lamenting swelling tides, Fettered by sheets — by schemes wrought in shadows. — The thrush... Continue Reading →
Silhouettes in the pre-dawn, Held breath, the long pause, Facing the grey horizon — An intersection: Celestial rotations Fateful contemplations Primal sensations — Gathering like ritual. A spiritual Observance of time reborn. How yesterday mourns: By the heavens so fated. Once anticipated, Eradicated — The long pause, offerings raised. Cosmic gears unfazed. Starry firmament retreats.... Continue Reading →
Jack was hungover as he labored alongside Father, but was sobering up quickly by the sights and sounds of humdrum reality. The faint peal of church bells, like smelling salts, woke him fully to fresh ol’ hell. The distant mountains purple-gray, golden fields, every shade of green, all God’s majesty and yet the scene brought a pang of anxiety. The bells, those Sunday morning harbingers of desolation, singing hymns to Creation, and yet Jack saw only isolation in them hills. Those grim ranges a fence, hemmed him in, miles from significance. Scream as he might, though the stars could hear his howl, though the angels would scowl, though Zarathustra would weep just up the Road yonder, the hills echoed only the ding-dong bells of noon.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked, with trepidation. The woman across the table looked up from her book with a mixed expression of surprise and apprehension. The ambient sound of the café was a low, steady chorus of clanking spoons and steam nozzles and Saturday morning banter - all tell-tale signs of a coffee shop... Continue Reading →
Just outside Owego, New York where the interstate turns south, and the terrain of the Southern Tier pushes the horizon ever higher, an offshoot of the Susquehanna cuts into a shallow valley between oak-speckled hills. Through remote country does the creek wind, ever waning as it meanders northward, unnoticed by the infrequent passerby, save the... Continue Reading →
Dwynn Murphy stepped into a candle-lit room and was instantly flooded with a mixture of emotions so acute in their dissimilarities that she nearly collapsed. The full brunt of her mission's purpose was finally weighing on her heart. From the corner of her eye she noticed the man, hands... Continue Reading →
I could get him down here with me. For that's what all pitiful people do, from the drunk, to the addict, to the miserably lonely. They tug and pull and drag those around them down into the pit where they reside. They beg and plead and lie and pretend until their prey is caught, until there is another in their dark room to share in the torture that is the bitter, empty, hollow captivity that they have erected about themselves. Escape is not attainable, but commiseration is.
Sean continued to navigate the truck through winding suburban streets, thickly settled but thickly wooded. Each home sat close to the street, bordered by juniper shrubs and uneven sidewalks. Behind them, sprawling yards remained brown-yellow from a long winter, while towering black pines appeared brilliantly green next to the bear slender arms of oaks, maples, and walnuts.
B David Larson 