This brilliant winter morning find… waves of snow on every lawn and red graffiti dripping from the walls of Temple Mizpah

Paul’s not a veteran of Vietnam but he goes there in his dreams to watch his brother Tim walk in hazy streams sprayed with Agent Orange before he

She’s been a widow a year now and at times she still misses him when she drives past the steak house where he

A poor man comes to the door after the storm last winter and asks if he can have something to eat if he shovels the walk. You say forget about the snow.

A long time ago you bothered him somehow. Since then he has bothered you back. You don’t know how or

They’re usually poor people, sometimes considered the flotsam of society, always in the way at the grocery store,

Although we’ll never again be body to body or mind to mind, you and the place and the years are alive every night in the lette… I’ve stored in my room.

Sometimes an egg comes out of a chicken Sometimes a poem comes out of a title Sometimes a chicken

The haberdasher has that season of the year he rids his racks, his bins of oddments. I have no season of the year

It’s not the beach. It’s a lake of fire, if it’s there. That lake we heard about in

My wife’s upset because I won’t answer the phone in the middle of the night even though the phone’s on my side of the bed.

It’s a small backyard I’ve watched for years from an upstairs window while chained to a computer. Whatever the weather