Peering inside, I saw
what might have been gray cobblestones,
rough-hewn stairs, old pitch torches
Tag: poetry
Nothing Fun will Happen this Halloween
no goblins will glare out of dark cellar shadows because/
we all know, for quite certain, that monsters aren’t real.
That Thing Standing Behind You
There’s so little to eat, the icebox is empty
Is it too much to ask to dine with a friend?
That Fish is Going to Eat You
What can you do but scramble for shore?
