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The shy, wild dogs of February
In the freezing winter of our dissolution,
when his engine block cracked
in the Ford Econoline van, fracturing our sanity,
making our lawn a weeds cemetery,
coyotes saved us...
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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...
