—clerk at the auto shop// someone said the world will end today./ asteroid. solar flare. nuclear armageddon

The scourge slipped over her/ Like a silk sheet./ Soft at first,/ And then gently suffocating./ Sleepy laughter

Fog horns sound though/ air soaked in blackness./ All evening long listening/ to hiss of trucks, cars.// Shadows

The little girl and boy were screaming. Not the bad screaming. Not Mia’s screaming. Lucretia stood in the

The treetops are clouded with mist./ Same as the waterway,/ dampness sponging our curious faces/ as it

Smoke crawls up the chimney and surfaces into the air. It dissipates, although not really gone, not ever gone.

The warm sun felt good on the old man’s skin. He stood on the balcony, gazing down into the garden. “A

A man of beauty,/ A man of wisdom,/ A man of power,/ Oh such a man he is./ He lives for that final hour/

A man never rests/ Except for the Sabbath of toil/ And peace is no peace/ When devoid of violence/

Our suitcase is offering no receipts/ whether carried loosely or on shoulders./ The estuary is almost never

B.J. And Sara parked their Minnie Winnie Winnebago in the farthest section of Wal-Mart’s parking lot in

is a lifter who flips logs to consider/ wood lice or embers./ The first skitter skatter flee./ Who cares.

lazed daff-dils tilted drooped:/ petals sagged yellows sad stems,/ soaked fox tears--smoldered tongues/

The dream strikes at 3:33am every night, always coming at the end of the first sleep cycle. It creates duvet

I am willing to archive the world lonely/ or in solitude withal a fish,/ To archive the finny-plaice/ means extract

Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness./ Samuel Beckett// Consciousness

‘Solitary confinement is too terrible a punishment to inflict on any/ human being, no matter what his crime.

Morning breaks with a sound/ of glass-gray fog cracking/ against sharp green/ magnolia leaves and

Sometimes, she thinks about biting his finger. Especially in the mornings, during that hour or two after dawn

In the clearing, hunters hidden behind/ bush-shelters dug a dozen duck decoys/ in deep mud, imitated their