A Brief For The Defense

No traffic today, it’s winter and I am here without you. The sea grey as slate falling away off the continent, inflamed with the high phosph...

He has lied to everyone about his whereabouts. He is marooned at sea or in the desert with a small batch of sour mash whiskey, a sumptuous m...

Come home with me. He folds her hand under his like the surf of Lake Michigan tosses and rolls a stone. Softly eroding her knuckles. Come ho...

A dour pewter morning after a night of dense rain. She goes for a run but her body is not willing; legs like cinder, heart like a drum. She ...

I was talking to myself the other day the way I often do, talking to myself about love. Trying to figure the thing out. How it comes about, ...