February Fried

Spring Snow [excerpt] by William Matthews And here comes snow, a language in which no word is ever repeated, love is impossible, and remorse. . . . Yet childhood doesn’t end, but accumulates, each memory knit to the next, and the fields become one field. If to die is to lose all detail, then death…

Frankie Animal : Play Misty For Me

Frankie Animal – (Can’t Keep Calling) Misty It’s Valentine’s* day, a day for peering down the barrel of a whiskey bottle at all your good intentions. A day for staying in bed, with the blinds drawn, where the only noise is the voice in your head directing you back down the boulevard of broken dreams….