This is an ode to the press. I write a lot of these leading up to publications I care about. This one was unique, I sketched on some boxes, used some spray paint and some sharpies. In the space above what is captured in this photograph are three parallel rivers, the Ganges, the Susquehanna, and the Lethe.
I live in place where I am inundated with imagery of three rivers and bridges. Choosing my three rivers and doing so in an ode to the press felt like an empowering experience that I return to often.
There was thunder in the hut teeth clattered under the ground. Handcuffed you walk in inequality to qualify for hanging till dead. I may not tell myself what was happening to me. Moving in opposite direction the bird was able
Thanksgiving never will I forget Hopping in the car for a very long ride to grandma’s house With heavy frost on the grass, glistening in the sun Singing songs and counting grain bins to pass the time Now the frost