Kate Ryan

She doesn’t know how to communicate the feeling that all is for nothing, nothing is normal.

She closed in on the open pores enlarged ten times their normal size by a high magnification pocket mirror.

Sheila applied widely and on a whim. She needed a job and she needed one fast.

Like booster engines emptied of fuel, my limbs become disposable, useless tanks as the blood rushes from them.

His mind rode the lines, circling on an endless loop to nowhere as he attempted to go about his activities.

Writing simply does for me what long walks do for small dogs; it makes me tired and happy.

Okay, so maybe she didn’t really understand feminism.

He thought I was mad, but in an artistic way; I thought he was horny all the time, but in an artistic way.

She couldn’t imagine the water she sat in, the water that enveloped her body, wanted to be here.

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