Raindrops clink as they bounce off the roof tiles. The peaceful rhythm tries to lull Evelyn to sleep. They attempt to shake off their drowsiness.
Mr. Rutherford had a vision, and that vision concerned the kind of life he was building. Mr. Rutherford was a quiet man, and his vision
In the waking dream Of some acid washed Memory, we saw The lovers We left waiting And all of the Phenomena that they
Poetry, my ragged mistress, naked with golden sap dripping from her fingers Offered reprieve from the bonesaw nights of self
I watch them every morning at the breakfast counter eating scrambled eggs with forks pointed prong-side-down, probing the yellowed fetal goop, scooping heaps of
Drunk on a pyramid and glad where booze was available and the rooms free, for all we cared; our only concern how to kiss girls
I see you In that place— Where limbs tremble Where muscles contract
The feel of silk between finger and thumb, a delicate wash of pink so easily torn, after a brief efflorescence destined to wilt. They form
What noises should we save in the museum of historic sounds? The beautiful calls of song birds preserved before extinction? The burbling of gushing streams
A trio of clouds, bruised and smoldering from the summer night’s rain, lingered over the lake as Ava and Gino ate breakfast. They sat on