You Sleep the Sleep of the Scorched Cockroach Crushed. Crushed behind the incinerator with a forgotten Frito's bag and a pound and a half of charred cardboard. If only there were a way to free your withered, wasted left arm,... Continue Reading →
Shadowgrams I see your shadow burned into the wall of the building across the street which is being sandblasted no amount of erosion erases your form from this monument it is as if you were carved there by your feet... Continue Reading →
Poetry Breakfast 