slowly it diminishes
withdrawing toward the wall and ground
each one taken without thinking
until before you know it
all that is left are the bark scraps
and a dark tarpaulin
flapping about in the wind
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New Muses for a Posthuman Age
Late last year I wrote a 10 sonnet sequence entitled New Muses for a Posthuman Age, the idea being to update the goddesses and answer...
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transition home
when the ghost in the basement
won’t stop wailing i want ouuuut!
& you holler right back
don’t we aaaall, my friend!
the dog at...
