Ashley's 'Last Call' Call

Even the scarred can dream on New Year's Eve

once mere debris - / now sweep the stars,

every time i sigh i can’t help but think i’m getting a little taste of what it's like to die

A poem

November

You are no longer a child.

First snow

turning to dust. A sheetless bed.

Dead or Alive

burying the / man / alive.

ELEGY FOR THE HOME I LEFT

Along the Mississippi we listened to jazz,