Happiness
He found it on the side of the road, blood smeared across its fur like a strip of red flag. […]
Poems
Insomnia Chronicles XXVI
The night is full of insomniacs googling insomnia. Some of my friends are trying Dry January. Dryuary. Others are sober curious. There’s a mock cocktail called a Phony Negroni. It’s made with non-alcoholic gin. Phony Negroni. Phony baloney. When I was eight, my brother and I were walking by a house in our neighborhood when suddenly a slab of baloney sailed through the air and stuck to a chain link fence.
I Only Dance for My Mother
She gives me the wine
and I take the wine.
I mop her floors
and she walks on them
while they’re still wet
One Brother Said to the Other, ‘Let’s Go into the Fields’
Beyond the old barn a small stream ran all those winter days, and beyond the stream almost nothing grew except weeds, poke grass, burdock, scatterings