During my year in France, there was an older man who came into the small café where I swept floor and dusted windowsills every morning befor...
There are days when the trill of winter’s wind rattling high up in the trees, sending their stoic arms and ribs into weaving motion, is enou...
My dreams these days are of couplets, crawling Through my sleeps‘ fabric, winding and scrawling Lapidary verse of women and love My consciou...
Capillaries of light scrawl over my eye lid Akin to fine little red vines Wrapping their tentacles up a tree They seem, to me, some sort of ...
Comcast gleaming watching scuttling scarabs dance down wide moneyed rivers forded through glassy gorges People, people everywhere! brushing...
A band is playing in the next room polka, all hurdy gurdy like, and it reminds me of my grandparents at my brother’s wedding. My father is p...
I. I cannot sleep Here, it is 9 o clock somewhere outside of Philadelphia on a morning in February, rotating a gradient closer, from this lo...
Pink contrails, the hue of serrated flesh, carve over dusk’s faint blue sky slowly fading scars, evidence of humanity’s great heaving need f...
snow is drizzled unevenly like cream over the brown earth you are a brazen daffodil in your yellow dress basking sunnily with our dogs benea...
2. The rest of her morning is calm. She makes a small breakfast of one egg with tofu bacon after she finishes her bagel. She checks her emai...
3. Through the big front window of Erin‘s studio, she watches a group of fifteen or so women, a few younger, most of them about her age, spr...
4. The afternoon has turned grey in a wintry fashion, the world seemingly coated in a faint layer of soot. The bare trees, the crisp grass, ...
5. The inside of the pizza shop hums with florescent light, a gentle yellow radiance emanating down over the orange plasticene booths. In a ...
