sleeping until nine the cat meowing another Christmas hangover

With Apologies to Robert Frost Some say that where there’s smoke there’s fire. Some say that’s a lie. From what I’ve dealt with smelling smoke I hold with all the liars. I smell smoke all the time; the Parkinson’s to blame. I think I’ve […]

baby jesus please anyway there it goes

so much depends on a fat man in a skinny chimney

I’ve taken the mints which were in the bowl at the hostess stand. Forgive me: they were free & three years old so stale but still so buttery.

fifty-degree Christmas: an old rug unfurls balsam pine needles

wrapping litters floor father sighs, bends, groans another trash bag fills