He stroked her back and kept a fierce grip on her like she’d fade away into one of the thousands of ghosts in this cemetery.

Alanna Carrington, head witch of the Philadelphia Coven, hurtled his way, and with her, trouble was a guarantee.

He’d fallen in the trap before of believing she had the cold soul of an ice queen, but moments like these, it seemed more like she’d been encased a long time ago and couldn’t break free.

A thousand words blossomed to her lips and died there, because no amount of speaking could communicate the depths of how he’d affected her. Of how he’d changed her.

A chill swept through the air, the sort of graveyard kiss promising bad news to follow.

His thoughts inhabit a different plane from those of ordinary men

I've been most happy to be an advocate for the kinds of grassroots things that people are doing who care about poetry.

Today is a reality, tomorrow's a promise, and yesterday's history!

Hand in hand with nationalist economic isolationism, militarism struggles to maintain the sovereign state against the forward march of internationalism.

Justice limps along, but gets there all the same.

The book you don't read won't help.

If you can answer the question of why you’re doing it, it’s the right thing to do.

I don’t tweet for a very simple reason, which is that I drink.

Effective action is always unjust.

When I started out, all I did was play my trombone.