The Moon and the Man
The scalpel was shaking in Athol’s hands, far too much to make the cut. He stared
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She Didn’t Sleep There Anymore
The young woman and the even younger man walked unsteadily down the tree-lined street at dusk
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Last Breaths of a Language
Wrinkled, drooping, slouching language Sat in the body of the last speaker Ready to disperse into
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Strangers in Tokyo
Looking through the window of the old thrift store, I remembered walking through those aisles. Various
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According to the Tibetan Book of the Dead, I am a Hungry Ghost
My love drifts and bobs / on an ocean of desire / like an untethered raft
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Hopscotch in the Kitchen
Would they have been happy if they had bought the artist’s house instead? The one with
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