Why do you write? No one ever asks me this but I repeat this every morning while taking a walk in my neighborhood. I write to save nature and reduce animal suffering.

Further north under frozen
waters, trout and panfish linger beyond
the shame I will not face in daylight.

"People will call her what they will, but none of the names we have for her can describe how happy I imagine her to be."

Decomposition does not happen in isolation. You cannot decompose alone.

Before I discovered this project, I never imagined the drum as anything more than an inert object behind glass, one that I knew belonged to my people but was so far from home that it didn’t have meaning anymore.

“All I can think is that everywhere March must be different. The fat man, bearded, in thong sandals, tells me dryer #1 is broken, holds up to me his limp sweatpants—It didn’t dry a thing, he says.”