In my dream my grandfather was there and I thought this is the last time I will see my grandfather and then he was gone flickering between a photo and a living, breathing grandfather and in the street a wake… Read More ›
dream poetry
“Found”
In the darkest places of rest the mind finds what’s left in our pockets whether we wanted it found or forgotten.
Good Friday, 1981
On Good Friday my parents wake me to say Michael has passed away, we’re both around 11 — something I can’t pronounce or spell that came from a mosquito bite with blood taken from a sick horse that made his… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 