I know enough to know it’s not spring until I see the snowfence coming down. Today, between the highway and the lake orange-vested men
I am cash & carry, I need green. Teller, what’s my tell? I click heels. Pop gum. Twirl curls. I am in line, out-of-line,
Once language exists only to convey information, it is dying… Richard Hugo, The Triggering Town. The bank’s vault, loaded with the once friendly girls
Here are the raw, tan hands of the desert, a little scrubweed stuck in its fingernails, and a great lashing of sun. In the