creative writing

Chattanooga Walking Bridge, Sundown
There is a parade of bodies thronging the bridge, each body bathed on one side by sun glaze. No one is in a rush. No one on his or her cell. So the body keeps walking, off the bridge and into the city, while the mind takes snapshots inside the massive tombstones of commerce it floats through.

Mountaineer Inn
Lately I’ve come to believe she never stops walking, like the mythical shark that can never rest.

Subscribe to creative writing