Tag Archives: Andrea Krause

Shatter

Mucky hands unearth treasures stuck, we pluck the ones too heavy to recede— amber pounded matte, cloudy etched headstones, foamy green skeletons ground smooth. Pleasures lobbed from a party boat, or rage splintered into rocks. An octopus of loose ends, … Continue reading

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The Five-Second Rule

Even the smallest child knows— get it before you count to five, and you can eat on as though it never touched the floor. The Journal of Applied Microbiology concludes this adage into lore. To confirm, I run my own … Continue reading

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The Neighbors Upstairs

Every spring the crows give chase, running a brazen hawk from their nest. Cunning birds homesteading high up, in the same spindly fir, dripping sap sticky as sunburn, scrawny branches snarled with dead vines. The wind is taking its damn … Continue reading

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