Here’s a ditty I wrote about eating roadkill, called “Providence.” I was honored and astonished to have it appear in The Baltimore Review. If you run into my picture on the site, ignore it. I took a nap and now look half that age.

If you’ve long hoped to read a poem lamenting the use of box fans as a means of drowning out sound for the purposes of sleep, wait no longer. I give you “Static,” courtesy of Tampa Review, another journal to which you should subscribe.