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Mobs want to do my thinking for me
I fear losing my strangeness, my hands and feet
dissolving, my distinctive features bleeding
into a bleary rabble. The patient man perched
on his balcony, who waits...
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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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Calling All Editors
Great news! If you’d like to publish my work,
my submission window is now open
and will stay open until the cows come home.
There is no...
