There is not room for Death Nor atom that his might could render void Since thou are Being and Breath And what thou are may never be destroyed. – Emily

Spectacles hang on a chain around her neck, pale and partially entombed in florals. Warmed by a navy fleece she stoops, weighed down by pleases and thank yous. Delicately veined

After Allen Ginsberg Sleep is holy where I revisit chambers of my childhood home So is waking to coffee with cream and Sweet’n Low where even the grime on my

There are three parts of you she says Can you picture them? The first built her house on solid ground after consulting all the best architects The second has no

It was a song         an obscure song that came filtering out of the depths of the unlit places         we had been sleeping