Editor of The @Awl and @thehairpin. Patron Saint of early bedtimes.
Who sheared the fog from the mountains?
They’re bleating, nearly bald,
huddled together at the horizon.
Or I’m reading too much
into the landscape again. Projecting,
as if playing a recorded image of myself
on the screen of terrain. I am…
★★★ The freshly washed sidewalks were reeking. A man plucked at his t-shirt to flap air into it on the…