The gray field of the rain had risen.
She slept on the worn patchwork quilt of the sky.
When
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Poetry
The gray field of the rain had risen.
She slept on the worn patchwork quilt of the sky.
When
... [+]
"I may be some time," he said,
easing on his fleece-lined boots.
We laughed and clinked ou
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I muse my bed
deep think to the ceiling
I hungry the biscuit tin
lazy the sofa
watch an
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I would stand as a child and watch my mother light candles on Friday nights.
She would close he
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if you concentrate
hard enough, sometimes
the fourth wall breaks—
fading just a moment
to
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One day, long after they were gone,
cleaning out a cabinet in my grandparents' house,
buried
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When they told me I was dying, which I wasn't,
I began to miss the things in the world which I
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We head toward the peach orchard,
the one we found midsummer
at the edge of town, past the
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I have seen this movie before,
I know how it ends, with troops in the streets,
and the charred
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He climbed a telephone pole first;
next, a cell phone tower,
because he’d heard of ancient
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He lost his second wife in Buffalo.
She hid behind his books and slipped away
on their due date
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If you find my sorrow
keep it. It has been too long
festering and coagulating
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In the country of your birth,
you learn to call redeemer,
to call magician, to call the
code
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In the glow of this
neon mountain,
framing her face
like a fluorescent halo
from behind
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