Things Unseen

Things Unseen

Demons, Panic and Memory

on tales of the occult

Christmas in Niamey

a nostalgic celebration in warm harmattan winds

The Strong, Silent Type

What are tears for?

Beneath the black rocks

No one knows what happened.

A Neighborhood of Porches

Striking a lighter may be the most intimate contact of my day.

A meeting in reality and in imagination

In the photo she had been shouting so hard the veins on her neck stood out.

The persistence of memory

“It’d be interesting to know why this perfume is so important to you,” my shrink said.

She took her bony forefinger and made the sign of the cross on my forehead

“Hallelujah,” she said the last word, drawing it out