a hammock of winter sleep in the armpit of the highway / a log truck raises its voice above the monotone / sound accelerates down the liquid sheet / polyvinyltraffic cones idle in powder’s mouth / a lone pigeon drives the emptiness home Eimear Laffan’s...
Photo by Karin Hedetniemi The front door to my heart is a windswept coastline park, wild around the edges. A rocky shore strewn with slippery kelp, boulders, piles of driftwood. Framed by backward leaning trees. Gusts so fierce at times, you can barely stand upright....
In the wee hours of this morning, I noticed A heavy snow falling as forecasted. With The whole world feeling immaculate, I got up &Stood in front of my window, just on thisSide of the glass, finding myself lost in the white way All the ugly, dark, dirty, messy as...
We stepped beyond the museum,a sinking cabin with weeds webbing between the splintered logs,as though they had every right to exist;an iron pump rusting beside a butter churn,a pushpin thrust into the spongy ground.This was once someone’s home. Stones snapping beneath...
