I see evidence of a master builder in your bed of cypress branches, your pillow of interlaced swan feathers. Sorrow has not hindered your...

You can walk in a line and still be lost. This is the lesson you are here to learn. Caught in a widdendream you cannot leave, hoof...

You were innocent, wanting fire for livelihood. Licked you charred, didn't it feel liquor-sweet, the waste it made? You're paying for it...

the scream is the voice gone raw and can only be from the Minotaur William John Wither is a speculative fiction writer living in...

My mother spoke a dark language in secret. Her syllables wove my first memories. Just as my mother died, she whispered her last words...

the walls are to be thirty cubits high for three hundred cubits of length fifty the width—the animal inside half bull bull of a man born...

(Aegeus' Lament—as performed by the ghost of Peter O’Toole) Do not loosen the bulging mouth of the wineskin until you have reached the...

1. Dreams deep enough have an infinite echo, as if the time within them borrows from other lives, or that the forgotten worlds between...

I am with her and beside her and away from myself. Like Victoria Beach sand, the diner is loosely packed. Through the glass, I see...

A winter highway in Saskatchewan (like some scene out of Fargo) A car in the ditch He opens the trunk and sees himself dead A...

(text version of image 2) I have dreamt of the same room for the past seven days it is a room that you know; a room stitched...

dreams are the brain's garbage and what I'm doing here is tantamount to sorting my trash before it rides a pneumatic wagon to a farm...

Every time you appear on the back of my lids, we're wearing matching black turtlenecks. This is how my resetting brain creates...

Last night dreams presented themselves As ZOOM sessions before becoming Dreams. In one I am at a large group Musical performance in a...

They say you shouldn’t talk about your dreams. No one’s interested. But what about those you can’t remember Whether they were dreams or...

and the corridors packed (and the teachers held to our fault in this as if they didn’t schedule us to crush) but this time i am me now...

The unsung hero, the lesson, the hotel You are just a figment, just the ideal The moderator of my worldly perfection The land that loaned...

see how that spider weaves its hanging home over our bed would we could stretch a place to live out of ourselves like that if I could...

And then home again The ocean, the horizon Self in a straight line.

Storm clouds converge on the New Jerusalem Rain falls in colours, hiding the blood-stained sun Purple lightning dances a ballet of...