Prose & Poetry

             One can hear the hair of the dead grow — […]

at dinner, he tells me about the anolis he found,hands animated, describing the pulseof its throat,

On most days I have to remind myself not to go the places you went when I was

I miss in the missing Touched by wind-flood Its fingers swirl about Features I often fought

I fell in love with a man who eats clouds with a spoon carved from rainbows.

You held my wind whipped cheeksin your calloused pale palmsand told me, just how tendercheeks can

You should have been my master and I should have been your slave: Then, oh, what

Flashback: Jan ‘96, my first day at Hasbro Toys. Mattel, our nemesis, launches a hostile takeover.

I woke up stale on the chaise lounge, yesterday still on me. A shower, enough hope