That boy everyone thought would be an All-American—is sitting by himself at the gorge—smoking a number; begging for change— wondering what t...

  A forgotten room  I recognized everyone I recognized no one Looking happy They looked my way Turning their heads away I saw my mother Turn...

It's never good to love oneself. Especially your art. To listen to compliments is like seeking out nourishment from cotton candy. I am n...

a portrait of death is still life- here, but not here. that last breath- blew the sail on the ship into The West. condensed like the sun goi...

The trees remember in a language we were never meant to overhear— sap translating grief into amber syllables, thick with the slow arithmetic...

The dead find me  while sleeping One of us is sleeping I don't search for them They seem contented younger and self assured Comfortable ...

Safe spaced history  away.  Doorman keeps  gate shut. One-man telephone game passes  story  nowhere. To purge all your characters surely  er...