I want you in my home so I know you’re not alone
in the shadows of those long halls paced by the lost—
dementia scouring their last stains of memory more
Thank you to the editors of Melancholy Hyperbole for first publishing this poem.
I want you in my home so I know you’re not alone
in the shadows of those long halls paced by the lost—
dementia scouring their last stains of memory more
Thank you to the editors of Melancholy Hyperbole for first publishing this poem.
…when you said your name, Church, I cringed,
expecting Mom’s grooved tirade against religion;
instead, it built a temple, steeple pointing to
the majesty of blue in which our planet spins
within its womb of stars….more
Thank you to the editors of Melancholy Hyperbole for first publishing this poem.