Ellipsis Literary Magazine

The hot summer sun sends to earth its rays To sting the young worker’s exposed fresh back; Digging down in the hole to pass his days ...

I remember the pine needles and bug bites of summers spent ages ago. I remember branches ripped from growing boughs and stripped of their...

I would write an obituary for the four word infection called hope, parasitic at its prime and poisonous at its primitive, if I believed...