Published in


The Child is not my Sun

of Strobelights and Pastureland

She tries to look pretty, sort of fresh in the eyeballs
Hair not too salty, innocence on scrape
He tries not to look like a boy in the mirror this time, but somehow a man when he gives his next go
She gives her gum to chew on, bids him smoke cloves with her
He nervously wonders about changing his name
The house where his hail comes from, monsters and miles away



Purveyors of Provocative Prose & Poetry. Serving up sublime mind-elixirs & intoxicating ideas. Imbibe for creative invigoration — weekly prompts, pithy articles & prose poetry alchemy.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store
Fox Kerry

If you paint for me even one thing which is true, perhaps I’ll be tempted to consider two. I tell tales poetically, someone else needs to set them to music.