You’re woven together with threads that stretch back for centuries, fingers of your forefathers tugging and tweaking the shape of you into place.

Mother: “Where night is full of hungry mouths, / I lost my dream. I gave it to a coyote passing."

Mother: “Where night is full of hungry mouths, / I lost my dream. I gave it to a coyote passing."

This is a Making Little Guys appreciation post. Learn what a little guy is and then join in making your own.

Stone-sighted and gleaming, / the bones rattle / as you shake them

Any soup is a summer soup if you make it in July. Any thought can be magical if the right person is thinking it. But you know all this already. Just like you know any bone will break, splinter, and stab after it has been boiled; any tears worth their salt are worth saving; and

I was still rattly in my new skin when I ate the first one. He saw *it* lying there, and gave this cry like I had bitten his heart in two, so I did.

Like music catalogs, literary estates are now targeted by investment firms and changing how Hollywood will deal with IP

forever and a day, I sow / handfuls of starseed / all varieties / red giant, white dwarf

Yet at night under the fluorescent buzz of the back room lights, I missed that tantalizing flavor of mosquitoes, moths, and mayflies.

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