We build our homes
From sailors' bones
A crown conch amplifies their screams
From grooves
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Poetry
Melancholy
1 min
We build our homes
From sailors' bones
A crown conch amplifies their screams
From grooves
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The gray field of the rain had risen.
She slept on the worn patchwork quilt
of the sky.
When
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"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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In the woods behind Schofield Elementary,
skipped over by levelers and pavers
bulldozing through
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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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