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Routine Stop

        You brush against your holster in the sinewy fog draped over the town. It’s afternoon,…

On the Bus

She can feel the knotsthe odd angles, the bones,want to tell the woman to run, run, runbut deep…

Imprints of Time

Memory leaves imprints over the years, sometimes cackling, sometimes wailing, sometimes too full of serious. You live in…

Bumper Cars

For the first timein a long timeI hear my teenage daughter’slaughterand it send me pinwheelingback across the slick…