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  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    Morning stretches its fingers Across the smothered sky, Scraping the silken blue fabric To reveal threads of pink and orange. The swollen clouds Find their way through the mountains like a lost dance. The smoke from my cigarette dances Through my aching fingers Like a gypsy toward the clo...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    Inhale. A bead of sweat dribbles down the bridge of my nose as I thrust my hips back, carefully aligning my spine. I breathe in deeply through my open mouth, filling the hidden corners of my lungs with air. I feel my hamstrings elongate as my heels reach toward the ceiling. My head hangs loosely, ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    We drove through the yellow aspen trees, shooting down the highway Touching the ground at four points: Four parabolas where rubber becomes Another part of the road And the road wound us intrinsically Through each mountain Which was crisp but not quite ready to Give itself up to winter. Eac...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Dark water tickles sand With tiny fingers (tinier than mine) and comes Back, back, back As if pushed by the hand Of some tinier God. My eyelashes Droop like Spanish moss over my eyes, They oscillate back and forth Between sleep and sand and Land comfortably on apathy; I’d like, ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Borders in real life are not in fact lines drawn into the earth like maps have fooled us into thinking. There is no black axis at the four corners, or a fence at the Mexican border. There are simply rolling hills, and untouched grass, and frontiers with an eerie lack of outlines. ...

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