"I am Ljack Twain publicly, the founder and primary writer of The Audio Glow. The Audio Glow ( is a music website blending short stories with musical atmosphere - I write about music that makes you feel a scene, reviews, powerful movie soundtracks, and my thoughts on loss and mental health and music as therapy. I am a poet and an author working on my second novel. I encourage other artists to embrace your Weird and put it out in the world.  "

The Animal Stampedes for Water. By Ljack Twain

My destination is an oasis of replenishment, a cool mud pool
Kettle chips and frozen shrimp and boxed wine.
Across the two-lane undergrowth through the billowing dust,
3 miles across swaying limbs of Mcdonald’s arches and strip mall neon acacia trees, 3 miles of racing, screaming mini-van moms in their skittish, antelope-eyed SUVs Galloping at speeds upwards of 25 MPH.

How will I cross this perilous Serengeti?
How dangerous a man am I?
I am the animal and the hunter
A lone Rambo, defying the shadows
Carrying nothing more than recyclable cloth bags. I should really stop for weaponry.

The guy at the Best Buy counter says,
“Sir, we don’t sell bamboo spears here. And we ask our customers not to walk on all fours.”

At the grocery store, customers are alarmed.
Apparently barking and territorial threat displays are frowned upon. I shall quietly roam with my powerful shoulders, tongue hanging Browsing the organic pasta.

In the aisle there are men
Warriors they are not, for they wear Crocs And Banana Republic khakis.
I am the alpha,
For no one else has thought
To bring nunchucks to the Whole Foods. I must avoid management.

A small flock of children honk and scurry, flapping in and out of the produce stalls, Frightened by my husky growl.

Back home I put some water through a Brita filter and cook the meat to 160 degrees internal. From the condo porch I dazedly watch the HOA landscapers attack the shrubbery.
Being an animal and a hunter doesn’t make any damn sense, I tell the hedgerow.
And why doesn’t Best Buy sell bamboo spears?

I am parched with normalcy and thirsting for imagination. The heat is immeasurable
I must find the cool tall grass

I must drink or die.

A Dripped-off Dewdrop


I got lost
A dripped off dewdrop of star
a chipped off pale sliver
traveling, floating like a spark
drifting until I find rest
in a newborn constellation
where I split off and
into a thousand tiny glowing fragments
And each of them floats to Earth
steady and calm in the mute night
faded in their luminescence from long travel.

Thirsty, they shed old sadness
and melt into a welcoming midnight ocean colliding in a vibrant iridescence becoming a fused soft light
a reflection full of memory.

Like a lightning bug smeared across a blank black page Or Spring-brought beads on a rain-drenched leaf
brisk and crisp and fluid, reforming with each burst bound by buoyancy and gravity at once

it will shimmer and search across the gliding waves never resting
until it finds the morning.