Shade Literary Arts

she is ruined without ether or violet smoke, covers her skin in jewels. she is the taj mahal, she’s what happens to little toys in the...

Next to her light lays on my body, light breaks from the window, reflects onto her back where the moth sits, crooked antennae and she...

A man, objectively twice my size, lets me off the subway by leaning back, his arm still arched over the pole because he thinks I am small...

Let's be clear, literature, for me, has been more and more about the work. But, that's what we all keep saying--"the work." What is this...