My fetish is silence. My computer is off. I have read the noise. The brain sorts. Biohazard butterfly still inside me. I could tell you
Tag: Laura Jean Moore
Here will you find: mistakes, bodies, nutrients, and silver. A column is an obelisk; do not expect this one to keep to the straight and sturdy qualities of its namesake. Likely, there will be foolishness, and on a good day, a point. I have lost my armor. I have taken up the pen.
Routine by Laura Jean Moore
Tonight I am writing in an owl nightie, granny panties and a vintage blue puffy vest with a large orange and white chevron that meets
Time by Laura Jean Moore
Again it rained in the afternoon, like a blessing on the hot land. The air cracked with the relief of it, and the day’s increasing
The Streets Are Full of Blood by Laura Jean Moore
Police murders are like cockroaches: for every one you see there are a hundred others. “Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing
On Vice(s) by Laura Jean Moore
Cigars and conversation are habits I prefer infrequent but savored. Fixations of the mouth. I considered cigarettes—even dabbled—but never submitted to the habit. Too many
What Gets Missed by Laura Jean Moore
I started this essay by staring at a picture of rabbits slammed against a cane wire wall in the dirt of old California. I thought
Change Seven Magazine 