At the edge of my body where the skin is wait for me. I’m coming, but it’s so far. Originally Published in Cider
The train I am waiting for is ten minutes late after hitting a pedestrian. So December darkens. Each idling car generates a smokey boa
Only greed makes me want more than this: gold-leafed maples, soybean nuggets, and rich fields in my Midwest. Yet I crave New Mexican acreage,