it’s fresh when I pass it by guts glistening in the dim headlights, a red smear of viscera across the dewy morning concrete. as
Tag: poetry
Monday Fever
To his alarm, great purple hammocks hung beneath his eyes, sore to the morning sun. Wrestling house keys to the car, it had stung
Walking the Rocks
Here squats a sandstone city, its streets choked by motley cloth, Crowd River; bank brimming over toes tucked beneath dark waters cloaked by shade
