Four Miles Past
Out of town, four miles past– two mallardssing a rippled trance. Greenhead Drakescoots among cattailed reeds,
Where The Song Should Be
A seacliff. Dark. Haunted even. But what’s that perched atop? A form. White, not white like
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Outside Montevallo
We moved into her grandmother’s house a day after the funeral and ate what was left
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