On the wax museum tour of their marriage, every room sports its bullet hole or fist-sized gouge, while they, veterans of each other, arms
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,