This is the new "Vlad's Writings" thread. I'll update this one with poems and flash fiction. So! Here's the latest, fresh off the processor. This is called, "Tabernacle." Tabernacle God is in the attic, somewhere between the rigid mirrors and austere photographs of people who dreamed, in order, of wound watches keeping perfect time, of sleep and work and the embrace of a good chair, and who asked that they not be mourned. When I was a child, I would cup my hand over a flashlight and scan the hot glow with mechanical concern to glimpse a fickle spark of my soul between the blood and bone. God is here, hiding like a child who’s fallen asleep waiting for his imaginary friend to find him.