The Oldest Song

  The hens in the dusty twilight of the chicken coop sing in strange low voices, not the squawking we think we know, for that is what they do when we are near. Weird sisters these, all white the dance they do while the woman sleeps. Her own small egg, perhaps her last, travels the … Continue reading →

American Nothing

  Tonight the wind tears through a flag building a religion from cruelty. Someone lifts their face out of privacy, out of death. I’m here to marry you, lonely American nothing– with my useless name and your aimless car ready to take me out of myself. If the body was harmless, history would read lighter … Continue reading →