Fire the panzer eight times in a salute to the furtive runaway already halfway gone dead or buried. This is their song gravel throat let...

Photographs of sand. Photographs of flames. Burning landscapes. Burning philanthropy. Money speaks to means. Money speaks to deaf ears....

Let the unease of quiet sink our silhouettes into street gutters overflowing with needles and bad hands from the dealer. They say the...

She calls to me with her sugar lips Icy stare and golden wish To drown me in my sober wits What's your name? I say Ella dijo, Margarita...

Fifth grade was the best school year of my life. It was an early Monday morning when y mother woke me up for my first day of school. I...

Jukebox Hero, Play That Funky Music: Amy’s Song (The Bum Steer). Rockin’ in the Free World. Ghost Town… Have a Cigar, There’s No Way Out...

The flowerbed will never be the same, no matter how many weeds I kill. The buttercups already forced their way through the mulch I laid...

Have you ever wondered whether those were your own hands in front of your face, shaking? Your own head that’s pounding, aching? A cat or...

You can never recreate your mother’s garden. The edging will never be as neat, the tomatoes nearly as sweet. The backyard tree doesn’t...

Time passes and you begin to forget. All too easily your father’s voice fades from memory and echoes of love go with it. Time passes and...