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Poems

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  • Muxica

    The border fence,

  • Bookish | Brush Your Fingers Through Your Hair, Why Don’t You?

    The bookishness that

  • Evening

    The blue chair on the terrace, coffee, evening,

  • Myth

    The blind hobo who returned

  • Innocence

    The birds she could identify—nuthatch, oriole—

  • Two Poems

    The birch trees want to be left alone.

  • july

    The best thing about this month is not

  • THE BEAR IN THE WHEELCHAIR

    The bedside window is cracked a little, for fresh air presumably, and a lopsided venetian blind bangs softly in a

  • The Barricade

    The barricade measures two meters high and twelve meters wide

  • Night World | The Gentle Soul

    The barbed-wire vines

  • Purge

    The Aryan Jesus, in Hitler’s painting

  • Bodies on the Margins

    The artist understands blood; or rather