there is a band of boyhood infamous provincial marauders all bike spokes and radio static all pockets full of snake skin all street lit scraped knees pedaling past curfew there is a bolt-hole cul-de-sac burrowed in cypress all wasp nests and stolen valor all PlayBoy pornographic awakening all rough-and-tumble sleeping bag slumbers there is aContinue reading “The Haunted House on Willow Wood Lane”
Caleb Ferganchick 