I've been trying to write, but it's like the phrases that once flowed from my fingertips like molten gold have crystallized into ice. I've been trying to write, but it's like I'm the pyramids and finally, Egypt has become my succubus, who I submit to with all the willingness of a victim who loves her torture. I've been trying to write, but it's as if words are music and my vocal cords are the gummy piano key nobody plays....

Stalking the essences of a dream, I meander throughout the streets that have become rubble. It is quiet, unsettlingly so, but there is beauty in ruin. I dream of the little things. The way fiery sunlight glows against the sand-dusted buildings, the way soft moonlight shimmers on old street signs. It is hard to remember and easy to forget, but if I close my eyes, I can still taste the rice and cream that characterized my c...

Land of the brave… home of the free?That’s not quite right, but he’s not a mind for details. The whiskey slurs and slops in his stomach like a bad dream. American flag shorts. Unemployment lines color his future.The men America left behind sit huddled in the truth of their own misery. While gold litters the streets of the coastal elites, there is nothing left for them in the Rust Belt. Torn asunder by progress and conserv...