The hope a mooncalf follows
is sacrifice for slaughter,
and yet the wings of swallows
still skip across the water. 

The Official Website of the Leading Formalist Poet 

YouTube RSS
formats

Wake Cake

  You fly back home, sit at the kitchen table

(Read More)…

 
 Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Share on Reddit Share on LinkedIn
formats

Night

first appeared in The New Formalist

 
 Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Share on Reddit Share on LinkedIn
formats

No Flowers, No Doves

  When we entered the burning city charred corpses greeted

(Read More)…

 
 Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Share on Reddit Share on LinkedIn
formats

Tales I Have Been Hanged By

        I 1984, How I Became a

(Read More)…

 
 Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Share on Reddit Share on LinkedIn
© by Leo Yankevich
credit