Notes
I like to travel backward from the blast
poetry
world series
oh
Summer Run
I set out before dawn, alone on the grey road.
Thanksgiving
My cousin and I in the living room
Lucid Dream: The Hot Night Wind Between Cottage and Fields
I wander out into the long grass
Father's Day
Kissing his white beard, it was the citrus
A Stone
In the few weeks left before she died
The August Fires
It has been trying to rain all day and fails
boeuf
I learned to masturbate from a green pepper. They're not
Malocchio
Is more than a brief afflication of clumsiness:
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Current Issue: No. 301
