Creative
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Creative

The bartender starts work now. He doesn’t drive. He walks. I guide:   a vanilla glow peeking at winter’s chalk drawings.   He goes in through the front door. I go in through the window. The bartender’s lips are dry.   He fills craters with liquid. Warm in the stomach. Water on the moon.   Drops sift through space, down our cheeks, like...

“Wow. Look at that. I need that. That is so pretty,” Scarlett says, pointing at a billboard in the distance entitled “Sephora Collection: Colourful Eyeshadow.” A half-open circular case of eyeshadow is showcased. Its black border surrounds a clear circular window, encapsulating some sort of...

November  2010. It is Tihar, the Hindu festival of lights. For five days, there are fireworks and rituals and prayers; everything is done for Yama, the god of death. Each day something different is celebrated: first crows, then dogs, cows, oxen, and finally, our brothers. Crows...

I’d leave the light on, keep the door unlocked (but you know where I hide the key, the backdoor’s always open for you and Elijah). there’s a place set -- your glass is upside down, so the dust never settles. your empty chair keeps the room hollow, foggy through the fall.   I’m sure if you strolled...

He is warmth  trickling  through the trees;    their leaves  casting shadows that cradle her  soft-bodied stem.  A tulip to the  sun,       she unfolds  against his touch she is no longer   grace and beauty.  She is   textured edges and tangled roots  she unravels  herself  before him...