The Killing Machine

The Our Father

Daddy Long-Legs Moves To The City

Desperation Show

the burning jar

nosferatu

american gothic

the presents of loss

ourselves forsaken

our killing machine

salamander pond

american gothic

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Even from the sidewalk this house smells of age mothballsm yellow VIctorian photographs ; of dusty old clothing starched-hanging heavy in the attic--chewed by neglect gathering cobwebs like loneliness.

But outside on the pavement, through the crowd in clean white jogger's T's, there are things alive, things untouched--a sudden strong back in red shorts and high tops whistles then fades like vapor down the boulevard.

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