Some Thoughts on a Blizzard
It is not the sapling or bit snowthat scrapes the window, coaxing,Come out little boy, come out –Come out where the sting wind blowsCome out where the wind plays a…
Poetry by Devon Brock
It is not the sapling or bit snowthat scrapes the window, coaxing,Come out little boy, come out –Come out where the sting wind blowsCome out where the wind plays a…
Weathermen are pushing the storm. Nobody noteworthy died today. Eight to twelve on the Twins. Havoc on the plains and cancellations pending. No travel advised. The schools flaked out before…
Is it alright, my love, that I fear your breathing, that I tremble in time, with it? Is it alright, my love, that in your breath is the absence of…