Category: Poetry

I got a shot of cortisone / Then ran into a courtesan […]

the crisp blue December sky gleams above […]

found myself / on the floor last night […]

it must be the rumination / of thunder in the western sky […]

Art two Chinese prostitutes my husband says. / He heard this at work today. […]

It starts with a glance / At a packed corner […]

at Pulse in Orlando / forty-nine dead […]

Nobody would be likely to steal my old Chevy truck, I guess.

Open paint cans clutter the floor, and color slops over […]