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He wondered how others lived with their sins. Maybe they never did.

Phuong feared that she was nothing but a regret born into flesh.

Then bullet strikes were spiderwebbing the windshield.

There’s anger in the sound of a V-8 engine that puts me at ease.

our minds are not the same if they were the same you would be here

Everything hung in perfect balance. Light and dark, heaven and hell.

Time is a hearse and horse, a carrot and stick, a window and widow.

I lie down and see you one bed over; therefore God exists.

I’m going to save up against the flood and stagger to carry nothing.

I slipped one sparrow black and shivering into my mouth.

I told you how I’ve always been attracted to little violences.

If every present
is possible, how can we have eyes to see?

The stars begin to turn clockwise, freeing us of all consequences.

There was only the gulf of our steps, our breathing brittle as string.

Elsewhere, perhaps here too, regimes stagger, a congress ends.

he has come to write like nervous wasps in my mind like a grocery list.

Was he a good man or a bad man? Was it necessary, even, to speculate?

She’ll grow into a beauty, but she needn’t contend with that yet.

We had run out of every necessity. You name it, we didn’t have it.

“You look like you’re about to fall over,” he says. “Are you all right?”

What excuse did I use to pick a fight with that arrogant poet?

How large our muscles have to be to lift our wings even a single time.

Regarding the affairs of our Father, your demon is Ennui.

Michael McGriff

They plant whispers where shouts incinerate into hisses.

Through the dark, we say, through the dark: but do we ever really know?

You know what you’ve come looking for you probably won’t find.

I’m from Boston, is that why I imagine Fredrick’s emotions for him?

At Walden Pond, Henry Thoreau clicks like on the “Wilderness” page.

If you can be seen, you can be killed. No-man’s-land is everyman’s land.