MY WRITING

It is not the hottest day yet, but its damn near close. Heavy September air wafts through the orchard, distorting the horizon. Mounds of...

The auctioneer’s daughter Holds a closet off a seldom Used stair Where the West Wastes away A rough rider’s jacket, The velveteen vestige...

Like a wounded Wildebeest, Our Tavern sits Abandoned, About to die Heaving boys Forming foaming Rivers of half-digested Booze down the...