Your grey eyes cut around the room, following light as if movement or prey, dashing in and under growth, gathering places otherwise unseen into your periphery.
Bitter Earth
A Bishop in Love
We need a foreign country to set us free, Even one so poor, where no one cares.
Deadly Vigil
Going to mass should be dangerous—
Postmortem of a Fish – Editor’s Pick
I saw god at the dentist’s, splattered on the chair– a discarded fish head. Jaw forced open, eyes closed shut.
bear market; turnsole; small gust (the butterfly effect); astronautilus (expansion); spit or swallow
no connection left
Palate Poems
I didn’t know how to tell you I hated you, Never was I good with words, it’s true. So I made a cake.