“Are we sure about this?” Alice hugs the urn against her chest and flicks an uneasy glance at Jenny and me as we gather together on the manicured lawn.
London Calling: From the Back of a Dodge Caravan
It’s always a little strange to hear a dead man sing, as if you’re a medium communing with the past. But this is particularly weird, listening to this dead man inform me about the end of the world.
Coal Creek Litany (and other poems)
If moonless night, if cuttlefish ink, if the deepest caves of my body, if shadow/
were a stone that burns, if I felt cannel from a drift on Windrock Mountain,/
carbon dust pricking the old man’s face blue,