Castings
They say it is the fourth age Of men–and last. We cast Ourselves corrosively, Dressed in silicon And shimmering sand. Smoke enfolds the city Exhausting our t...
poems
Monarch
I see you in candlelight, touching memories Like bruises, soft pressure escalates To pain. My grandfather taught me to touch Fire in taps and brushes, butter...
re: Catherine
I am generally of the opinion that poems should stand on their own, without prose supplements. As the events referenced are two and a quarter centuries gone,...
Road trip
Day 1 Fig jam mellows torn rye, Muddled in goat cheese And passed through the car. No dinner today but movement. Run clean on gasoline, That’s the American w...