The sand castle and its towers/ have partially washed away overnight./ When you stick your hand inside/ the

The wet from the dry,/ canned from the fresh,/ meat from the cheese/ because the baby should/ never be

After Scott Hightower// There were no snakes/ in her hair,/ only voices,/ a wreath of harpies/ and reptiles, the

Even some well-versed in baseball history/ are probably wondering who I am and why I'm here/ I'm in the Hall of

The word of the day is copacetic./ I see my brother and me packing suitcases for our trip./ In the frame

On that gray day, you chopped the grand piano with an ax./ Surrounded by yellow and red leaves on the

Today I saw a father and son/ stepping onto the crosswalk./ I braked and watched them pass./ Son on

It all began with me. I was first and for many years, the only. No neighbors, nothing but trees. But over time the

Any compression or expansion is possible/ on an otherwise regular lifeline/ when you are willing to storm

I came because of the storm, the fire,/ the thunder, and clouds,/ because I could not stand still/ or even hide

He could hear them. The crunch of boots on gravel – those small stones he had so painstakingly strewn upon

Lyssiantha was too busy to die./ So other things began to die instead:/ Roses, goldfish, the choked plant forced

The spindly letters are vampire pencils, Abysses draining words from the throbbing vein, Dribbling them down

Pianos glow in silk-scarletted rays Glazed threads of sun fondly murmuring sit As autumn paintings shred

I don't need anything; I want everything, Lingering in chaos, an incessant suffering. I know it's an unending

This quarantine has laid bare All our what-ifs Man jammed with whims Ever envisaged A release from run-of

To cement the fragment of life is to stitch each piece with a thread of a soulful poem, using a needle made

White flight feathered quill with fluted nib, Vertically stands bleeding in an idle hand, Imbued with an

Manuela and Louis first encountered the “yellow vests” as Louis drove a rented car to Paris from Lille, where

They are mountains, that my eyes explores daily because I'm yet to see their extent. Their grace, endless