We’re not always looking
for an ancient cadence.
Sometimes the many-pistoned
hum is enough.
The beginning and end
of every journey:
our freedom is to incantate,
our freedom is to turn to something new.
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See AllIn the end, I suppose the better question is: how does the ocean feel about us?
I emerged from my door and carried into my present moment the quivering skeleton of a whom this poem is for, a what is trying to be accomplished. We are the escape artists. We point the way out. We pa
I haven’t asked him for his number because now I am known, now the I-I-I am afraid, now I am up there on the raggedy cross with Christ: no longer unimaginable (so a little breathless), no number, no d