A Brief For The Defense

Hemingway wrote best when in love. He’s dead now, and the women who had stopped loving him many years before (though they had the decency to...

Susurrant sounds of highway traffic, not seen, slow abrasion though quick by geologic measures, the mysterious journeys of others The night ...

The persistent, pleasant palaver of rain; like a wedding party passed in the night, heard but invisible, some light deep inside, the plangen...

We couch our insecurities deep in language’s familiar shape. (it is very soft on the inside, like velvet) A young woman opens a door to some...

Often, in the most central acts of love, I feel hollowed, absent, as if coolly watching a third party. And her breasts had an unusual hang, ...

There seems an abundance of leaves, as if they are never ending, infinite as stars, waiting for the wind to play with and disperse them like...