about horses and how it might feel in the chest and along the flanks of the thighs to ride them about the keyhole and the intimate glimpse it offered of other lives about swimming and how the windmill motion of arms propels the landbound body through blueglass shards of water about going wild or eating sticky fruit in orchards while dancing to radio music about rolling spliffs in someone's garage while a girl from another high school says it's like inhaling burnt paper about knowing enough was put away to keep you going indefinitely on cup noodles about the door that led out of those rooms of shouting and breaking about the failure of water to stitch one shore to another about the hard points of light on surfaces that go on and on
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.