Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications.
Terror in town
They recall clouds of a dense earth snaking through the vales at high noon and stopped in awe at the puzzling rage. Behind the peeling wheel of that eerie race horse resolved to another aimless journey she bore a well-known frown as fixture. When her kin sat in repose near wooden clogs in ancient harmony as they contemplated the flight of the swallows misunderstood this devil sped through the meadow Chased by a taunting record of desolate tales she never slowed to engage in a future as the rust riddled carriage vanished in a sunless finale. It was a little too early perhaps for a new sunrise as she fitted the noose so tight and vanished from memories as if she never was.
Making Another Earth
Thinking herself another Da Vinci she gathered the precious mud a little ball between the juvenile palms. Upon the arid dune of ancient peaks she ponders the heavy flash from above a mirage hovering the soft crests. Her gaze above a soft shoulder she touches her burning skin brown with the sunset hours. Considering the globe within her will she makes a planet home of many treasures a tingling reaching to her deep entrails. It is a grail offered to another dusk the gift she will reserve for a stranger conqueror of unknown realms. She fashions the home to her dreams soft mounds upon luscious valleys shapes she knows well from infancy Now she may close her eyes at peace at on edge of final darkness floating on the gentle curves of her birth.
Glacial in the dead of a brutal summer the room is barren as the undertaker’s. Blinding with flames of sterile light it seems flashes enter the broken glass. Forgotten of all those who may care a witness stands statuesque in the door. Not a sound dares penetrate those frigid walls nor a scent flavor dawns of puerile springs. A vacuum to all life empty as a hollow tomb it is prophesy of an irreparable future. An otherwise safe room in a grand fortress danger reigns there as it recalls a coming death. Surrounded by the joy of common days the void soon will swallow all remaining hope. Alone the giant of the obsolete domain falters near the abyss of an impossible legacy. Forced to enter the inescapable destiny of oblivion the gate stealthily closes upon dire desperation.