Tags » Erich Forschler

Muted Sounds

We float.

Or perhaps we sink.

I suppose it all feels the same.

In dreams we are immune from these sensations,

at once cemented to our hidden fears yet free to be ourselves. 21 more words

Erich Forschler

Milgram Street

Cool air comes steady past the metal wind chimes hangin from the eave.

We can hear them from here – all the way across the empty street. 294 more words

Erich Forschler

Deployment Scribblings Part Fifteen

There must be some big ass breakfast chef somewhere in the universe making omelets like IHOP just opened up 100 new stores in the Pleiades. And there he is, floating like milky fog and visible only from a million light years away, with pancake batter smeared on his face and apron, and bits of egg shell fused to the backs of his busy fingers. 507 more words

Erich Forschler