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You must not be afraid of what waits after death, my past self says.

I am almost never standing in the ocean, not that way, not anymore.

Florence’s cobbled streets spoke like a broken wheel, a halfhearted inferno.

A branch breaks and the body lands the wrong way. Snapping is easy.

He began singing, the words to a song that played from hidden speakers.

The eyes of men were drawn, numb and automatic, to her youthfulness.

Doctor, he devoted. When she poorly, he bring her mint tea in bed.

A question from one of your favorite songs what would you do

After moving, I began to look at the images and piece them together.

“Pick your switch,” says my father and I’m stepping out into the forest.

The fish’s eye is mangled, tugged inward; blood leaks from its gills.

In my eyes is the flame of the adolescent he wants to hire.

Who know fear is an aphrodisiac & nothing is scarier than time.

Lucy Liu, you show me I can come to fruition and yellow on my own terms.

Did Sharon and Roy make it harder or easier for their mother to leave?

Once I took it in my mouth, I had to admit pity tastes like sandwiches.

I received a surprise invitation to a tryout camp at Ebbets Field.

The notebook’s cotton pages are spangled with axes and sickles.

Why don’t we just get drunk and walk down the middle of Fifth Avenue.

I have so many questions for you, for you are closer to me than anyone.

Death is our common ancestor. It doesn’t care who we have dined with.

We’d open our mouths and sink, trying to make an ocean of ourselves.

Finger tracing the terrain, you hold me through autumn’s loss of color.

Photo portraits, landscapes, and world scenes by Sandra Lloyd.

A clandestine participation through a soundless beauty.

Art is a way for the mind to master the body, even if it is not one’s own.

she thrust to where her gut bucked acid & gave out a taurine heave

I lean I stumble toward you hoping you’ve not turned away yet.

I’m tired of the song the rain sings in June, the chorus of hope.