Living or Dead Things
In the early dawn, drawn from sleep, I snake through dewy grass. Light gleams off of these fresh blades, in the foreground of the...
On Fixing
Some kind of sadness in the skin of the dog—neck cut crisp against the leash— hand—stranger—tugging along nature false—around the pond...
After Hanif Abdurraqib
There’s something visually poetic about a man sleeping under a shrine of himself what good will your vanity do you? what good will your...