Human speech is like a cracked kettle on which we tap crude rhythms for bears to dance to, while we long to make music that will melt the stars.
— Gustave Flaubert

I don’t remember what I said – but I remember what he said. “What do you think of his approach? I thought it was pretty bad.” Her glance slashes over; we’re a sentence...

We found it in the Poconos just off the 611. 15 squared feet, waist-high tarp sides and rough rope fencing. You could see it pulling into the lot. Hard to miss, really – two men beating each...

Someday I’ll take my head apart –
find that part that talks too much

Balanced on concrete
Facing an acidic light
Coolness behind us
— Gwen, Erik and Allen (a collaborative haiku)