Last night, I slept and dreamed
that my heart was a beehive ––
inside golden bees worked busily,
sipping at the astringent nectar
of past bitterness, transforming it
into pale wax and sweet honey.
Glancing at a receipt for a flannel shirt this morning, I saw the shirt itemized as wovens . Now I realize I'm not in a strong posi...
It's not easy being an American abroad. Between being peppered with questions about politics and having your feet stick off the en...
NOTES FOR A FAILED NOVEL Tórshavn, Faroe Islands Start with the location, basaltic hills, green against the grey sweep of the North At...