Another Untitled Poem
Summer, season of hot insomnia, That much never seems to change at all. Laying awake in the red desert night, I shape woods from shadow and wait for fall. Ten years now gone, and who thought I would miss The songs of crickets, owls and katydids?...
"Victuals"
"Victuals" Salma was only halfway finished with her supper when the knock came. She froze, triangular ears perked high on her feline head until the visitor rapped once again, startling her into motion. Her shift had been over for hours, so whoever...