In the old days,every novel carried the same plots and characters—you could open any pageand read......

Bride of time,Death, stood at the foot of my coffin,Unloved and unmoved,A study in shades of......

SilenceForgive me if so often to your silence,I know no reply but my own silence.I see......

He picked off the green moss from the wet brick,Slowly; carefully enjoying the simple texture.He remembered......

For Iuliia Hoban So muchdepends upona chestnut treeblooming in Kyivdefying sirensrefusing sheltersdripping its white glazeof integrityspattered......

from the car Laophonte Mother damned swaneach evidentin the stretch of tarsalsfeathering forwardlike summer overwheat and......

Wrenched from sleepin sweat-stained sheets,hair unspooling a messof ribboned dreams— how cliché to writeof restless nights,heart......

I am cheekbones lit in his eyes,dappled dark hair descendingtowards soft dip of my breasts.In the......