Prose Poetry
Storytelling
By Paul French
Her teeth were like moving maize kernels—something which kept his palm flush against the edge of the broad door, letting warm air drift out to a nose whose rings sprouted from skin ready to cough a bolus of dirt onto his shoes; her tale however, clean, a helix of reasons that furiously wound to reach that yes or no finish line.
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An Invoked Diligence
By Desmond Kon Shicheng-Mingdé
All worthwhile sympathies ruled out, the dakinis are lagging in their step. “Don’t mind their petty worked-up fears,” the First Dakini says, always discreet, discerning and fully at ease with a public diplomacy.
