Category: Uncategorized

  • Fruitless

    Fruitless

    In half dreams, a formless hand spins the drum impassively, unceasingly millennia on millennia From brass pulled for me a placid spot upon a map pawed at paper piles, skirted slips stamped

  • Move-in Ready

    They’re snooping. I want them to, but I thought they’d go big picture, take in the bones of the place, the size of the family room, the light that fills the front of the house. Instead, the woman randomly stops to gawk…