What this guy sees is smoke and he hears noise like screaming. He’s on the ground, he’s at an airport,…
Nightingale
A man wakes up lost. Around him, trees—tall as mountains—they block out the sky. The man forgets if there ever…
Gala on the Grimcoast
I watch Abe under the eaves of night. We’re outside, on the balcony of an opulent estate, just beyond the…
Winter Wind and the Hay Man
The farmer plodded through the rooms of his home. The sun not fully showing yet, the world outside was washed…
The Baby Apollonia
Christmas Eve on the bridge, and a star in the north, blazing behind the fog. God looked down into the…
The Orange Bulb and Mama
The beagle slept at the bottom of the bed, on top of the little girl’s covered feet. She was warm…
The Phones
The smell of gunpowder makes its way into my nose. God. You’d think a cop wouldn’t mind the smell. Might…
Poem for Paris in November
violet air. ce soir. music plays in Paris. and the worst elements of us whisper. and the best, they leave here,…
The Day Moon Before Allhallowtide
The early morning stirs its way into the dawn’s dark sky. And the evening moon, which became the night moon,…
The Farmer, the Skeleton
The window over the sink, the one with a late-day sun coloring the kitchen. Through it, the farmer watched the…
seanpatrickwhiteley 