Poetry

We drove nails into His wrists, air reeking of animal remains and criminal bodies piled next to the horse trough ...

meaning click tongue when crossing the street for joy of having legs ...

Ice crusted sheets over November puddles bespeak more of the future than this cold day ...

Among the earliest of sins ...

Half-court. Dad said our perch from steep bleachers allowed us a good view of the players.

It's not always easy to carry good wishes and admiration in a see-through bag ...

I asked for two fried egg sandwiches and a blueberry milkshake. I got soup.

Along our route to the sea laps low ...

First I place them in a line atop a narrow path along the side of the house ...