Limbs

BrockaArt, Poems, Short StoriesLeave a Comment

An archeologist digs beneath.  He grabs a bone and brings it to his nose, smelling the soil it lain in for years. It is too familiar to be so old.  He is reminded of a box in his attic full of lightbulbs. They were missing their metal caps and filaments. Placed in the box upright, one could take them for bulbous glasses which would cut the mouth if used to drink from.   He saw those empty bulbs as telling him to fill up with his own ideas. Why was he excavating for the past, seeking out others?  ~~~ Lithe and leisurely she stretches others watch her she hates being watched her own self-consciousness are they aware of this? In the gym locker room, there is a very … Read More

BrockaLimbs

Storm Casting

BrockaBooks, Short StoriesLeave a Comment

A vicious, wild storm. Coming down sideways, it was a thrashing I was certain would break the backdoor glass and flood the bedroom. My bed would turn into the island of retreat. It was currently no solace, as I’d flipped over and switched sides across the bed now twenty times, at least. I was keeping track; annoyed. I was very conscious. In between the flashes of lightening, there was a stillness. The ceiling fan had gone off. I’d lost power.  I reached out to the nightstand to flip the switch and sure enough, no light. The howling wind sounded like a tornado. Nature has this frightening way of putting the human in his place. We have no control. I grabbed … Read More

BrockaStorm Casting