pork-stained fingertips, tracing the slathered urban plight, hot off the press


wield your modesty in more than arugula, than porkfat, than brine

Street Treats

dessert first, she said, pressing two snickerdoodles deeper into cream

Tavern Law

lithe dancer, you are green, wanton, casting light against the darkest world

Voula’s Offshore Cafe

the lingered beauty as you burst like a dying star, a crying child