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AMAROK – Nowhere Where the Honeybees Live
Read the first chapter of Nowhere Where the Honeybees Live.
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Book Event
Thank you to everyone for making the book launch such a great time! Your presence and support means the world.
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at glacier national park
{at glacier national park} at glacier national park, the virgin sleeps in rock between giants of ice slipping away into warm pools, hourglassing their existence. she doesn’t move for daybreak or nightfix or when snow collects in the wrinkles of sediment layering like wedding cake frosted and clean and sweet. instead, she sleeps. at glacier […]
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rip ||instant gratification||
something is scraping up the inside of my ribcage tapping the bone for maple syrup seeping out a brown glossy shimmering nectar concentrated sugar I hate using the word should and I’ve already written this one a million times but here I am writing it again sad I’m tired of more time passing and then […]
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guess it must be autumn again
at times the evenings feel like acid wash decay, personal microcosms with windows sealed shut and the incessant patter of rain like ice swirling around a summer drink tipped over and poured down the sink, grinding in the disposal all the way down. there are moments where I don’t think i’m real because I’ve entered […]
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Google tells me I’m dying
the arch of my foot hurts Google tells me I’m dying my poetry’s getting worse it’s like I’m not even trying it’s asinine I’m pretending that word is mine I asked Google what it meant before this it still told me I’m dying I’m trying to sound more manic than I am all short fuses […]
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Jenny
Jenny runs her polished fingers over his hair, smoothing it down to contour his head in just the right places. She smoothes and smoothes, licks her fingers then smoothes. Auden eventually swats her hands away. “Can you not groom me like a monkey in the middle of the restaurant?” he bites, ruffling his overgrown hair […]
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A Birth Scene
He’s born in the middle of the woods. He’s born beneath stars scattered across the sky, disorganized and unaware they’re that way. If he waited a month he could’ve had a bed and sterile hospital gloves powdered with cornstarch, the way his mother would have preferred. But he arrives without thinking of time or schedules. […]
Caroline Wood
author / artist / advocate