MONOPOLE

a novel by Bailey Stone Barnard

thought 53

It has been too long since I’ve written something without a purpose. I so often used to write just to write, for the joy of it, for the release it provides. I have been in need of a literary injunction. You see, the incessant fear is that the words will some day (for better or worse) stop pouring from you, so while they do you feel obligated to get them down on paper—or at least to digitally document them, as the case may be. This is what happens when you wrap yourself in the

Pizza Orgasmico

That night, Mark and I drive across the Bay Bridge into the city. The hue that radiates across the late-evening sky makes it seem like the sun isn’t setting in any particular direction. It feels too bright for the hour. A strange calm reverberates from the traffic on the bridge. The pattern of the road against the tires. The San Francisco cityscape becoming more pronounced across the water in the distance. We’re headed to meet Jaron when he’s off work at nine-thirty. Jaron de

everywhere the gray-green

Everywhere the gray-green came up to Meet the dying winter sky And the trees amongst them Were heavy with longing for The Spring that wouldn’t come. I pass and see the steady fence destroyed Restored and dead along the tracks. It stays with me in part, through the impression of a hay field and a dip in the ravine. The hills Beneath the fence posts, The grass in shades of green Belong with me, as I with them become One, by one, by one. I pass and see the steady fence in ruins

Featured Posts

thought 53

The Pitch

Introducing Monopole

thought 31

thought 25

thought 23

thought 22

thought 20

shoveling (thought 17)

things and unthings (thought 15)

Recent Posts

Archive

Search By Tags

No tags yet.

Follow Us