He draws with the charcoal an arc across the page.
Pictures her blacked eye from the story.
Music inching off from behind as disgrace.
What is this drawing for but drawing out?
Petals fall from drying stems.
This book on the table pretends to be read.
Remember yesterday hit by a car reversing in the dark.
Put the charcoal down and look outside.
Outsideleft exists on a precarious no budget budget. We are interested in hearing from deep and deeper pocket types willing to underwrite our cultural vulture activity. We're not so interested in plastering your product all over our stories, but something more subtle and dignified for all parties concerned. Contact us and let's talk. [HELP OUTSIDELEFT]
If Outsideleft had arms they would always be wide open and welcoming to new writers and new ideas. If you've got something to say, something a small dank corner of the world needs to know about, a poem to publish, a book review, a short story, if you love music or the arts or anything else, write something about it and send it along. Of course we don't have anything as conformist as a budget here. But we'd love to see what you can do. Write for Outsideleft, do. [SUBMISSIONS FORM HERE]