Aleph to Zydeco: Pocket Stories

Short stories from A – Z


There is a dog running out to catch a Volkswagen on a street in a suburb down there. There is always a dog running out to catch a Volkswagen somewhere.

Sometimes the gate to the backyard is left open, sometimes the front door is ajar, sometimes the dog yanks the leash from distracted fingers and sometimes that dog is just a dog in the universe.

The Volkswagens of the universe remain uncaught. Read the rest of this entry »


Benny finished with Carol a little after noon. Really it was nearer to 3 pm but Lincoln couldn’t remember what he’d done since opening. When Benny set the coffee in front of him, he nodded at the kid and looked out the window, wondering how long he’d been staring out the window, finding less reason to care as the minutes ticked by. Soon Benny was offering him another cup and Lincoln must have woken up some, because he said yes and Benny got up and smiled his simple smile. Read the rest of this entry »


When the season changed, the ghost gradually disappeared. It ebbed, like the pollen thinning in the autumn wind, the shape of it disintegrating into a shadow on the wall. The low odium that infected Veronica’s studio apartment fell away, replaced by a crisp scent of emptiness – of plastic and vacuumed carpet, warm curtains and the breezes that found their ways through the cracks in her insulation, smells that wrapped around things but did not invade her nostrils with mildewed malevolence. Read the rest of this entry »


Upon my eyes the moon and your skin glow,
Both white faces pilgrims in the southland,
And each her orbit fixed round this below,
For one the Earth and you this earthbound man.
And we two rolling under sleepless wax
Wax full our burning selenography
Adjoined across ill-tempered circumstance.
Miles his mortars, time our adversary,
Each hour is always too late, reunions far
Between the moon and sun the dream too brief.
These glowing moments here, these embers are
The stolen sparks of sleeplessness’ relief.
I rise for you until we set as one,
And where you go, insomniac, I come.


Where is the word that I have heard
in Sarum by the sea?
I’ve searched for miles and years and yet
that lyric escapes me.
‘Twas neither noun nor adjective
that boggled my poor brain,
‘Twas neither a conjunction nor
pronoun that caused me pain. Read the rest of this entry »


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