He fished in the pockets for his cigarettes, only to withdraw the Camel soft pack and find it empty. He pulled the dented door open with a metallic clang and squeal, crumpled the soft pack, and tossed it on the floor.
Warlike (and other poems)
My lover pulls out / Death from the tarot deck and lights go out.
Castles, Books, and Submarines
“I’d rather go to Hell and back than become a housewife. Every poor woman trapped in that fantasy was starring in their very own Groundhog Day.”