Updated: May 25, 2023
I see your face when I dream, though
I can't quite see the shapes I used to recognize.
You're only partially excavated, and
I'm not sure which way I'm tossing the dirt.
My poem, Buried Memories, that I posted here in the summer has been accepted for submission on spillwords! It can be viewed on their...
Translation Horace, Odes 1.5 /// Who is that scrawny boy, saturated in the fragrance of roses, that presses against you, Pyrrah,...
What makes a person bring home and keep the dying plants, the abandoned stuffed animals, the mug that's been dropped and glued back...
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