June Bugs
I no longer remember what we looked like
poetry
Down From the Garden
You killed the meat hens one warm day in March, my father,
the other side
the girl digs in the garden, down past the buried doll heads,
Self-Obituary
He has winter eyes,
spring
the streets tonite are
smallish, unofficial garden-variety poem
azaleas, rhododendrons,
Interior with a Kitchen-Mail
Words have grown solid here:
Living through the war
My father polishes his stories
Kind of Blue: An Elegy
Down wit hthe miseries & miles blown cool across the wire.
Inside out
Rainy afternoon with fog & sparrows
Pages
Current Issue: No. 301
