spit

Follow the crooked ridge Here's a path in an open book a story a score with few bifurcations read forward then backward a crab canon a m...

For the toss-and-turns of a warm night she did not sleep the red-eyed tree. Not delivered the bleach-white cooling sheets from dusk to midni...

A moon imagined Behind whimpering clouds Relieved from the gaze of Lamps and rooftops She must be round and plump With her earth-born goddes...

A broken side mirror puts the present behind her en route to eight hundred miles of goodbye to a kingdom of gentle palms lifting all wings t...

She hears the speed of the wind as a chatter through the banquet in slow motion pressing upon her path She turns around and sees faces from ...

Turkish coffee in wine glass  A brief cringe on an imaginary face  Yet a perfect collector  Of precipitating fate  Tasted  But not swallowed...

It's been nine years since she died. Or that's what we thought.  History, memory, time came to a full stop where she could not adapt...