…that brief sweet hour when the fury of intrigue waits…

The first faint years of us gather on the hillside…

I need a wire harness for my neck and all things blown akimbo…

a song about a boy whose first act of love was a broken window…

Each morning in the blackness I hear Bella…

In a blizzard, when a firetruck whinnies away like a spooked horse…

My mother would not have it so.