Adam Robinson

A rose, a paise, a family

In the beginning there was only a seed, from which much might have grown. The priestess had given it to the little girl as a blessing and a prophecy — she was to put it in her shoe, where its potential could follow her, and thus her future would bloom. The shatapatri...

A Bolt Out of the Blue

All of this polyglot ramshackle in the stern underpinnings I keep my tongue. The forecast is looming, an act turned into the name of its machine. How stars turn to undoing us, a dropped stitch gone supernova. A needlepoint sampler is all I have left. A grandmother's...

Rewrite “Melting Ice”

Melting Ice You sit five feet across from your murderess. Your intestines gnarled by decades of emotional constipation bend you chest to knees. At first blush, your asymmetric physiognomy suggests prior stroke. But she clearly knows you have disconnected one side of...

Melting Ice

Melting Ice You sit five feet across from your murderess. Your intestines gnarled by decades of emotional constipation bend you chest to knees. Your asymmetric physiognomy suggests prior stroke at first blush. But she clearly knows you have disconnected one side of...

Liminal

It's the pocket knife that I bought on a whim during a summer gig in college. It's clustered on a low table with a pen, some bits and bobs of receipts and lint, and whatever other minutiae came out of the jean pocket that had housed it.  It has plenty of stories to...

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