• Poetry

    The Last Minutes

    drinks never tasted so sour poured down throats with lumps night after night winter toiling windows rattle squirrels scratch on the gutters of our brains foreheads rubbed raw from anxiety going over and over in our minds recounting how we played the game with debts of costumes, props and stage roof slates fall off past decisions drinks never so drunken sloppy mice nibbling concern on couch cushions coming soon—house auction on court steps  candlelit backed cockroaches dance  dust blows silent shame in corners Poem from Heirs of November (2017)