Originally published in the April 2019 issue of The Scramasaex, the Shire of Ravenshore’s newsletter Beneath the dark depths of an ancient keepA façade near impregnable to allToiled the valkyric norvegicusIn mistrusted work by tooth and gall One by one the sisters crept intoThe night, driven by hungry stomaches’ growlInto the home of the twisted
Thanksgiving I am cooking I am a kitchen, steamy and hot I am cranberry relish simmering on the stove the night before I am turkey in the oven, basted every thirty minutes I am sweet potatoes smashed with salt, pepper, and a little butter I am my children bickering in the living room I am laughter
That beard’s out of control you look like a long-haired terrier You’re too hard on yourself, bro your photos are good Keep working at it It took me for-eh-ver and I got lucky You won’t believe who I get to interview You should come back to the paper Fuck, it’s nuts on an ice cream cone
Monday four not quite white walls less than black coffee feed the cat radio news every half hour after 6:30 Tuesday four not quite white walls less than black coffee feed the cat radio news every half hour after 6:30 Wednesday four not quite white walls less than black coffee feed the Cat take the trash out to the street Radio
Old GP Road the fawns mom stares at us while we hunt them with our eyes or camera her babies graze without fear of us we be-knight them the freezer meat twins though their spots have yet to fade the river is a boon companion ever present, ever murmuring down here is not the city nor the
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