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HUNG LIKE A HEBREW NATIONAL
Something moved, down on the floor,
as I sat staring at the t.v.
Marisella came in from the kitchen, holding something,
a glass.
The t.v. went limp
trying to...
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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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A Blood Moon
The air is a velvet rope, coiled tight ’round my chest.
Breath unspools silver wire, threading ribs,
tugging my spine toward a fluorescent stage.
Copper lingers on...
