The Breath of Night

Existence

One Last Smoke

Old Wolf

A Scene *Based on the poem, Old Wolf, by Steven Cope. Excerpt of Old Wolf used with permission

Lackadaisical

Last fall, when boys went down

If It’s Really Clean Meth

Is it seventh providence raining from the globe?

Exit Wounds

I stand as a pig in gestation

Slow Burning and Silent Drops of Asylum

Crack open the sky.

Dark Murals

You were weeping when I found you.

Tangle

I have habitually mistaken a shard

Cicatrix

Blood the same brews thick wire around the masses of men;

The Same Vein

Nora’s portrait clings to the wall near my writing desk, and she watches from behind my shoulder as I chisel my thoughts into

Pittsburgh Strip

The first thing that hits me is the smell. Something putrid is wafting up out of the manhole covers as we trudge down the

Bills

The twilight evenings when she wasn’t working, she sat on the bed, legs crossed, peering intently at the receipts and bills

Tuesday Afternoon Bible Study

If you were to spin a globe and watch it pirouette upon its axis, blue and green and brown all blurring into one indistinguishable

Thrift Store Wedding Dress

Each item made a different sound as it sailed through the air and into the open box, the various buttons, zippers, and buckles

The balloon of a child

Past the reach of his arm, past the twenty-two foot light, past the red oak trees, past the office building towering beyond the

How Not to Fall in Love in an Art Museum with the Person Standing Next to You Looking at the Same Painting

As you stand there, heads cocked to the right, and you gaze at the painting and you gaze at him gazing at the painting as if he

Chicago