Drenched in the evidence of our crime, we became defiled. Your palms no more dark than mine. Crusting scabs ran along in a watered-down attempt to clean what was wrought. I remember that of which I am guilty. I cannot help but wonder if you even remember me. But I have learned not to trust any […]
via Red Hands — Perpetually Past Due
Author: Phil Slattery
Publisher, Rural Fiction Magazine; publisher, The Chamber Magazine; founder, the Farmington Writers Circle. I have written short stories and poetry for many years. In my careers as a Naval officer and in the federal government, I have written thousands of documents of many types. I am currently working on a second edition for my poetry collection and a few novels.
View all posts by Phil Slattery
Phil Slattery, Writer, Publisher 