I …
Ange Mlinko
The sky was laced with Irish cream mist, that mellow tan overhanging the hills, which were studded with deathmasks and baskets spilling flowers from both ends. …
i …
With a dolly and a zoom, the airbus …
Where we’d recently lain, …
Lynette, the stars are kerned so far apart— …
"I thought of you as a butterfly tonight," getting to eschatology from a sketchpad, your mom's. …
A levitating anvil. Omen of seagull …
It is eighty degrees in December. …
It’s you I’d like to see Greece again with …
Sunset backlights some pine to ... a caped sponge …
They sang Green, Green Grass of Home …
Reaching for the vinegar over the range hood …
Louisiana skies paddle north nodding hello to some exiles …
I went to make kouign amann. It sounded Irish …
In someone’s distant algorithm …
I wake to light jackhammering, and news …
If you’d seen …
From the weathered boards knots pop …
Three mini ciabattini for breakfast …
Here I am saying “The leaves are falling” …
The flight attendants …
The hotel showers were splendidly profligate. …
Lobster in the bathtub. Christmas Eve. …
It is Hermes stepping off his winged sandal. …
Terrible are the rose names ... …
If an orchidophage’s tastebud magnified …
Two flags nuzzle each other in the desultory gust …