You met him in high schoolthey always did saya second-string QBthat never did play
I’m left in this cave of rebirth,still wet from the newness.I see the light entering infull…
I let myself loosen and expandinside the April night airthat glides in,smoothly as a snake…
Finger on planchette of a dusky acheI conjure a ghost of my past — I’d been…
No white bird cryin, just this possessed lil’ italian girl’s quiet revolution…
the sweltering lonelinessof summertime— the softness of adolescentsadness—led…
Altering the scene of the wreckage, dismantled the twisting idea in look for the striated…
Prose