Because I do not have the impetus to do it myself I will leave the bulbs burning bright and diligently change them when they expire I...

Down the hill my egg fell open to reveal a perfect ball; green like a grape and as solid as my skull. When we drank the salt, a witch...

1. Great poets keep soft palms. There’s no poetry in working your hands until the skin calluses to wood and you can sharpen your fingers...