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HALLUCINATION  Blood crawled up to the brain, constant stress jarred the nerves, indolent flesh of burnt vision, about to lose

Blawnox Thirteen winters past birth, our son answered my question,  What do you want for Christmas, with one word, Bongos. 

HUMANITY We build upon foundations of skulls and bones, cement made  of flesh and blood filling the gaps between, creating

It & living with & in stride    & treatment time    & time to do dishes box bring out the briefcase

Blackhole Syndrome A father’s flesh and look are nothing. He is the shape of benevolence or the lack of it.

Tucked into an ice bath Someone served me a rough-edged glass of smooth cough syrup with a price change of

Exhale of tremulous timidity It’s daybreak and I’m wondering why my razor beak is pecking hard at my self-worth. Not

Writing About Things I never wrote about an aunt who ran away with a salesman.  I never wrote about a