When the house of flesh disappears in an earthquake of its own making, this house of wood and glass will stay fixed in its
One The dog is waiting to be let out. He knows the shape a day should be, how warm the rocks, how long the
We scale the wall at night, the little left of a jug of driest Zinfandel in the satchel on my back. Shards of streetlight
Linear in its literal unfolding, night catches the unaware, flinging bat wings over everything; even anger is less intense than darkness, which challenges the