Prose
Eyes Half-Closed, Flame Half-Lit: A Riverside Morning Blues
Eyes Half-Closed, Flame Half-Lit: A Riverside Morning Blues I woke up today intending to write a "purge story" something to drive the Shadow Man spirits out of the corners. But the system was not ready for the dark, so I ditched the ghosts and looked at the sunshine instead.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 3 days ago in Poets
Buried in the Holler
Time falters and the rhythm of the holler unravels, and every legend must be redrawn. What was once a reliable peak has surrendered to the valley. A mother’s passing is a slow erosion of the foundation that held our world in place, leaving us to study the silence, a new law governing the atmosphere. The heavy stillness is not a void but a presence, lingering in the spaces mother once filled.
By Tim Carmichael4 days ago in Poets
Sweetie Bird’s Beak-Moving Blues
Introduction: Sweetie Bird’s Beak-Moving Blues By Vicki Lawana Trusselli "I’ve heard the whispers in the writer's groups. I’ve seen the headlines. According to the internet, AI is currently busy plotting a global takeover while simultaneously stealing our creative souls. It’s a great script for a sci-fi thriller and having worked in the film industry, I know a good plot when I see one.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 5 days ago in Poets
