Beneath These Tyrant Fashions, a Human Warmth

[F]or a moment I become ticklish to the world’s tiny details—an unpleasant sensation, like when the hairs on your tongue stand on end from too much sweet.

The Painted Bells

Juniper Tree: A Cutting

Perhaps by now they weren’t the most well-adjusted people they’d ever been. Perhaps by now they’d become, even to themselves, a little strange.

At The Well

We wished the man crucified on the harp would divert us by groaning or sagging down a little. He could at least sag down a little, we thought.

Nathanimal

Selected work