Bitter drink from a tree named to be consumed by immortals,...
Like a bead of water racing down the shower door, I...
And as the ice melts it falls from the upturned shaker...
The November we are fifteen we run away and the boys...
Who would dare ride those henpecked cocks of the walk?
Everything was sharp about Thomas Roberts.
That girl is a bundle of hot air, super-heated steam, held...
House creaks with every gust of wind;
Shadows are so admirable in film noir less so on x-rays...
For the white-bright sheets on Mother’s clothesline
Adulthood is a mask thrust upon us that never quite fits.
Taut and robust, her freckle-flecked flesh stands barefoot in the trickling,...