Archive

First there was magic, / incantation; / pure bulls / walking the walls of Lascaux...

With our cameras and crumpled clothes / we wait for the bus. We rush to each / “beauty spot” through narrow streets...

The alarm sinks its teeth / into my ear. I drag out / of our warm bed. Another...

Nutshells on patched linoleum, / cracks skipped over / on the long sidewalk home...