He was a pornographer, or a wannabe pornographer, I guess, she said, slowly rubbing a spindled finger against the side of her nose. In truth he was a banker, or just your typical grey-faced business guy. Had a lot of money to spend is the point, and seemed interested in young women. Like me. She […]
Digging in the red-dry dirt, fingers dry, and the air. Then looking out at the other side of waves. Ruins of indeterminate origin. A face in the back there, one face of many, what of it and why. Cicadas at night, their whirl and wind. Smoke on the edge; brush fire or home? The man […]
The story begins like this. No. It does not. There is no story. Or, they shovelled a load of speed, and headed down the coast. Salt marsh. Sparse groupings of pine. Dust. A bar at the side of the road. A woman beneath a tattered palm of tarpaulin. A cigarette between sunned fingers and silent […]
So let’s have it out then, I said & once in a while one notices a shift of clouds, bruise-colored sky, black hills Now here’s a story, I said, finally here’s my story, something for someone to listen to The wind opened Swallows’ wings boomeranged the stubbled valley into patterns I said something in the […]
Back Now Out over A quiet street Shuttered against August’s heavy dull heat Threads of smoke From far fields Cloud-hidden stars Not one light across The courtyard Six years To write One Poem * (this poem comes from the limited edition chapbook Roman Hours, 2017)
How was the sky at evening? It was sky. And how did you greet the sky at morning? I tried. And? Cried at all’s end. All’s end? And still they sang.
the long last century stuck like a fishspine in the throat