This faded, cardboard orange box,                         Swooshed and sturdy             Like the overpriced athletic  Shoes that it once housed,             Two decades ago,             Carries the flotsam of a life–                         Or is it jetsam?   One thousand eighty cubic inches,                         Still loosely packed,             Give or take, withRead More…

And so he watched as she partook of the flesh And of the fruit, of the devil, of the knowledge.   And he did know her as he saw her And did, of his own bone, lust And did, for his own rib, lust.   Then, in the shadow ofRead More…

Endowed, not so much with birthing hips,             But well-enough, nonetheless, I dilate, and push; the walls of my innards             Flexing in painful waves. Otherwise blessed with the gene, the one             That makes my womb barren, That makes my womb a myth:             Nonexistent.   And, yet, birthRead More…