Each man's hand itches
when he sees the sword impaled...
My aunt never married;
on occasion my mother...
Gift: An Edgar Allan Poe Doll
My mean sister has a doll collection...
A chance sweep of my left arm
in yellow and blue flannel shirt...
In these hillside streets where we walked
roam the ghosts of who we once were...
It's a small bridge over a ditch
from the parking lot...
I come into the woods
not merely to escape...
You never walked out on me
stayed in the very next room...
A ruined stick
a burnt match...
Sometimes my mind wanders after a young night’s...
especially when undecided between writing a 4am...
Nothing I submit
lays claim as original...
What you see of me is a shadow,
I have already passed on...