Poetry

As A Miner

The diagram begins here in your pocket

How Could It Be

Never to feel new again, the mountain goat

The Fallout

The fallout mustn’t be monitored considering that everything changes hands.

Dead Black Men

I won’t die at a party like this, falling over the contortions in my gut or floating over the whirlpool of cups ...

For Beth Ward

One of my basic human dilemmas goes something like, Does metaphor contain us, or do we extend ourselves out into it?

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Poetry

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JUN 2008

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