She is leaning against the wall, sagging from no water.
No one notices as her flower fades and the petals fall again.
Hope springs eternally and naively as she shyly looks at the
boys who pass her by.
Invisible in spite of her bright colors.
At the hour of one she gath...
The ice house raised out of the blank desert canvas like a wart, larger and uglier than everything around it, a boil on the finger of God. Miles and miles of pockmarked beige sand extended in either direction, sporadically dotted with mobile homes and cars raised up on...
Samantha is steadfast in her determination to tempt, as she holds a spoonful of peanut butter in front of Brutus’ face. Brutus looks at the spoon but knows he must not lick it. He has learned this the hard way from hours of practice with a dog trainer...
On the slow train from Cambridge
To Ely, I am sitting behind two Russians.
A couple, they are locked in conversation,
Oblivious to the fenland steppe outside,
The rain-steeped, raven-black earth,
This England in its midwinter rain.
This boy vacuums the taxidermy. Moves the black nozzle over still-soft hair, over pink-veined ears, polished noses, thick necks. This one looks awfully offended. He’s gentle with the horns. Hardly skimming. Indignant. ...
I confess. I do believe in god. Not an all knowing
all powerful bearded old man on a throne in the sky.
No. No. My god is androgynous, sitting near me
In the coffee shop. Inconspicuous. Strong, but
flawed. With my god, I press my face to the sky.
And I feel the dri...