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 12 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 a presence, lingering in the spaces mother once filled.
By Tim Carmichael13 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 14 days ago in Poets
