By: Charlie Mitchell

“Little Dog has never seen the pattern of the horse’s blankets…”

By: Charlie Mitchell

“Something feels fit to burst.”

By: Charlie Mitchell

“Nature doesn’t cater to glory.”

By: Charlie Mitchell

The Transhumance is a rite of passage…

By: Charlie Mitchell

“power steering / made monsters of all of us”

By: Charlie Mitchell

‘that town’s four beers yonder’ / Wild West’s cocked yardstick.

By: Charlie Mitchell

“lit dart wafts past the rattle/of an AC’s toil.”

By: Charlie Mitchell

“gulp in cloud castles / adrift above granite sieges”

By: Charlie Mitchell

“pause to taste Dasein…”

By: Charlie Mitchell

“Weaving skeins of kind worries / with surgical hands.”

By: Charlie Mitchell

Stonewall Jackson’s I WASHED MY HANDS IN MUDDY WATER

By: Charlie Mitchell

It shocked me as a kid; now it’s a relief.

By: Charlie Mitchell

Regal on the edge of dying light.

By: Charlie Mitchell

This galaxy is neither dystopian nor utopian.

By: Charlie Mitchell

The high beams caught a barn owl sitting in the center of the path facing the Bronco.