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Thomas A. Hiscock – January 2026 *** When she’s angry, I know she’s just haunted – weighed down by things that wouldn’t change… Sometimes, I switch the meanings of ‘raise’ and ‘raze’ to see what happens to my world… “Hero, how the fuck did you forget… Again?” Head in the clouds, I’m yanked from a
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Thomas A. Hiscock, January 2026 *** Granite spills across the low brown tide… Colonial bones, pierced by a thin blued blade, leaking to the sea… Pylons, buried beneath the soft green loam; salt-stained – bruised purple with a limpet rash… Vertebrae rocks, shifting crabs… Blue mussels and teapot clams – dry, spoiled… Sweet decay and
Mussel Cove Creations 