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Flashback
It's not the fall
of shank buttons
or the tearing noise
of quick unzipping
or the impulse
of pull and push
or the rough
of cold concrete
or the thin blades
of wild...
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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...
