Category: Poetry

    The aurochs spins in firelight suspended On the tent.  Appears to run, remarkable  Shadows, foolery already Leaping.  Carved from bone: a map, A t...

  e.g., so weary from my own bellyaching, I fell off the edge of the third drink, the second dessert, & was provoked to more dancing & necking &...

  in our house lives a god of domestic things:  the scorched end of the spatula, the basement door so pregnant with humidity it no longer shuts. he’s an in...

  For who can be…the herald, unless he have the voice of a Stentor? Aristotle, Politics   Adjacent to a panel van, a sawhorse stands outside the plant...

    That’s how it works. You’re stuck in a dream and without knowing much of anything make the best of it and if not the best, an absolute mess, causing yo...

    I too am composed of smokelike particles  the cyclical soreness of heath and earth   cloudless bark blinking against the tips of the sky I can’t quite ...

    We name the things we love the most, and Emma was an off-brand American Girl doll our daughter bought at Target with her Christmas money. Lydia cradled...

    The body bags reeking of formaldehyde rested on steel tables like butterfly cocoons             tucked in a hatchery.  I unzipped number nineteen where you,...

    On the outskirts, in a waste of clay and rock unearthed when the Interstate went through, he made his garden—leveled and cleared the gutted soil. Then ...