[tabby title="Poet Bio"] At first, I am madplaying all the Coltrane I can findrecovering steps to a playa secret we both may never understand.Holding hands on a Sunday afternoon – almost dancing –how can a whole evening be made just...

[tabby title="Poet Bio"] Smoking unrefined marijuana in dry candle scented newspapers, the dialogue is in suspended parts like the light bobbing up and down your balaclava headevery time the fire finds a new spot on the fig to burn.There is...

[tabby title="Poet Bio"] I cross the border and I return.I cut you with a knife.Maple leaves dry like steel spikes strapped over the wallkeeping the light dancing only in your room.You wash bandages in the afternoon.I walk your dog. Now...

[tabby title="Poet Bio"] Summer beetles don’t buzz they tell of lifeof the growing grass,young eager blades laced with hope, left on a hunting knife,of haunting storiescascading down mugs like the old morning dew,the story of me and you.Summer beetles don’t...

[tabby title="Poet Bio"] It's how the strange and the kind can get entwined intoanother version of the truth, like velvet harmless hanging in a wardrobeor the summer, and the brief stare of the longest faces.Another witness is dead on the...