Photograph 3

by The Pirate Librarian


Two pianos, lidless, curled together like lovers. Still on paper, the strings vibrate, together, a great dissonant roar that pours off of chemical, emulsion, and creeps into him, every crevice, every empty space. Crawls through bones, marrow, veins, leukocytes. Curls around lungs, liver, spleen, spine, as the pianos curl around each other. Like a lover.

Photograph 2

by The Pirate Librarian


The snow almost covers the outlines, but occasionally something pushes through, some rusted, jagged edge of a something that used to be something. Junk, in the winter, abandoned. As he takes in the metal gleams against the white, he can’t shake the feeling that they’re drowning. Can’t shake the feeling that they’re calling for help.

Photograph 1

by The Pirate Librarian


The river, finally, swollen from the melting of the last spring snow. It was the river from his childhood, the one he had seen in the gutter, in the city streets, foaming and cocky with muddy rain. Like it could be so much bigger, a river. Like it could swallow him, the city, the world.

An Original Idea

by The Pirate Librarian


Staring into the great void of soul-despair that was the blank
page before me, I slapped the pen away in frustration. Suddenly, a
shadow loomed above me.

"Oh Mr. Mittens, aren't you adorable, playing with my homework like
that. Who's a fuzzy little kitten? Who's a pretty kitty?"

Oh, the pain of being misunderstood.