Silken bones sinking into soil

it is becoming incredibly hard to name my sadness these days.

My view from my office window shows / black water punctuated by small rafts

in between the lines / you wrestle courage out of thin air

They – the Elders – are looking for The Prophet in the bellies of all the village’s pregnant women.

Life is an exceedingly long thing

tripped by sunbeams

Just wanted you to know it’s never-ending, this.

In every mirror

At times I stare

My legs, a moth

In college, I had a professor who’d had a significant health scare and was on the verge of forced retirement.

There is a tree growing out of me

The world is color, but we exist in black and white.

I will own 7 trumpets.

The duplex is a fat slice of layered pound cake

During a commercial starring a rugged guy in a ten-gallon hat playing harmonica beside cows in tutus, Michael remembers his cowboy.

Whatever the opposite of grief / it sits in my reflection

The dew point has been above 70 all week, unusual for New England

I like, more than anything