Some books are not just retellings of earlier stories; they tweak the edges, like pulling threads......

Walking into my poem she sat like a metaphor on hunger, her child slung on her......

Six months old, propped up against a white sheet, wide-eyed and bewildered, a tiny refugee in......

Fecking Nickle Souza, what a fecking loser, never met a woman he didn’t try to abuse-a.......

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

At what point did we replace books with screens? Sometimes, I question myself. A book face......

a man stood in the mostwell understood stance.Waiting – maybe.for someone? on someone? right palm perchedon......

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

Sad like blinking traffic lightsat dusk staring at a November crossing like the dotted grin of......

We are terrified rabbits,Falling into whiteness (I)So, phone the greying fire tendersput out the remnants of......