Lynn Alexander produces Full Of Crow, Fashion For Collapse, Blink Ink Online, and some other stuff that all starts to run together after awhile. She produces and distributes zines and chapbooks and recently began hosting Crow Hour, with featured poets and sporadic open mic sessions. Her audio cd "Rage Against Suburbia" is in the works. She lives on a lonely mountain but honestly misses the sounds of traffic, and is most definitely becoming her mother.

Vessel (June 20, 2010. Issue 18.)

The hut was gone, had she burned in it? Maybe she was gone. He wanted her to be.

She thought she was gone, whatever gone meant, most likely gone meant dead. She thought she was dead.

She felt nothing. It was a horrible kind of nothing that she never could have imagined. Nothing.

She was disconnected from her body, nothing linked her thinking to a motion or a part. Her thoughts were a mess, she felt severed, away from everything, all feeling gone. There seemed to be nothing left beyond her head, which she became desperate to palpate, she wanted to touch her face to see if she had one but she could not, she had command of nothing. She tried to connect with her hands, could not, lacked the ability or the memory to do so, did she have hands? She didn’t know.

She had them over her ears when the flames made her blind, when she could no longer use her eyes and her throat had closed. Her hands had been against her head, as hard as she could press them.

He had burned it to the ground. Had he known she was inside it, did he know she was gone? Where was he, had he taken off, left after the hut burned to the ground, had he grieved?

She wasn’t sure if she was gone, if she was dead, if she was inside her head in a bed somewhere, maybe there were people around her. Maybe there were people checking her chest and neck, checking to see if she was dead. Maybe she was alive inside a charred black body.