Reading Tracey Knapp

  TO THE NEW MOON   Come night. Come sirens and midnight babies born in the backseats of taxicabs. Come moon. You crazy weeping alcoholic, quit drinking yourself into nothingness. Someone‚Äôs trumpet has gone missing tonight. Someone is looking for you, holding your hairbrush to the nose of a bloodhound. Leave your shadow on the… Read More Reading Tracey Knapp