Writing

The vines are anchored to the tree are great, hairy, bulging ropes, winding up the rough bark like parasitic leeches. Wrapped in the...

Saturday morning Wide-eyed weekend exploring In search of a poem Not contained in a book My subconscious is a knotted net Yearning for...

From the opposite end of the parking deck I saw him lying there, the concrete below stained red. Rows of concrete pillars stood as silent...