Paul Aaron Domenick

Joined March 2026

28 stories

Bio

“I am mine. Before I am ever anyone else’s.” --Nayyirah Waheed

“Publication is the auction of the mind of man.” --Emily Dickinson

“Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself.” --Franz Kafka

Stories (28)

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The Making of a Snow Globe
When I was five I put a quarter into a toy machine. A toy soldier was dispensed in a plastic dome — perfect for making
By Paul Aaron Domenick15 days ago in Poets
Oh, Isabel, Why So Thin and Pale?
Oh, Isabel, so thin and pale-- charm wasted on the breeze that carries with it the poem’s dark-hued words that prod the
By Paul Aaron Domenick15 days ago in Poets
The Jewel Thief
Hey, y'all prepare yourself or the rubberband man, because I’m bound to lose a little control in envisaging a woman who, like a pomegranate, has tough skin and juicy seeds.
By Paul Aaron Domenick17 days ago in Poets
What She Couldn't Say
I’m here alone with her in this room. I can hear her breath being monitored. So much hushing for a simple machine. She would like it that way: Hushed and breathing deep.
By Paul Aaron Domenick17 days ago in Fiction
A Wrist Against a Frozen Pole
Is it being over the line to want a sufficient taste of the other side of funhouse mirrors where survival was possible in plans for blank posterity,
By Paul Aaron Domenick18 days ago in Poets
Father, Hello
Father, hello. But I was remiss to understand-- for decades after your surmise-- A gay son? What kind of man are you?
By Paul Aaron Domenick18 days ago in Poets
Screwing Him with the Word
In the beginning, his name was Nameless. In the end, his name was Adam. All that was left was the void of the Middle. So, fruit me your rib, seed inside my slits, jaw my rattling body.
By Paul Aaron Domenick19 days ago in Poets
Milk of the Earth
The mahogany trees in Sierra Leone cracked under the worrying sun. Joseph trekked, kicking up dirt with porous sandals. His newborn daughter, Hawa, was cradled against his bare chest, suckling at his nipple. Wincing, he fixed a woven, white cloth over her head.
By Paul Aaron Domenick20 days ago in Fiction
To Pick Her Dandelions
Upon the lawn, an ersatz, golden head, The shame of a stepmother’s gilded blade, Where nose-breaking blooms in beds are shit-fed,
By Paul Aaron Domenick20 days ago in Poets
To Place on the Tongue
Yearning and cravings so bright they trip the light of my hovering steel wings flapping above dreams of one more hit in that sanctuary called
By Paul Aaron Domenick22 days ago in Poets
Same Song Edens
He speaks through his groin in the pale morning for the sake of leaving sparkling sperm on his man’s feet in the spartan room made for gods and
By Paul Aaron Domenick23 days ago in Poets
Colors She Can Eat with Her Eyes. Top Story - March 2026.
She said she liked leg warmers and stained-glass Jesuses shaman drums and Miss America swimsuits fly eyes and Kufi caps
By Paul Aaron Domenick27 days ago in Poets

Paul Aaron Domenick

Bio

Stories .css-1svwz57-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-default-mute);}(28)

Filter by community

The Making of a Snow Globe

Oh, Isabel, Why So Thin and Pale?

The Jewel Thief

What She Couldn't Say

A Wrist Against a Frozen Pole

Father, Hello

Screwing Him with the Word

Milk of the Earth

To Pick Her Dandelions

To Place on the Tongue

Same Song Edens

Colors She Can Eat with Her Eyes. Top Story - March 2026.

Stories (28)