Telemetry and Ghosts
Night shift hums like a vending machine that ate my dollar. Lemon cleaner, old coffee, the faint iron of someone else’s afternoon. Trauma med/surg is a choir of beeps that...
For Stephen
A Freeverse Elegy They’ll say we were just boysbut they never saw us—kings of the midnight curfew,co-conspirators of every stolen hour.We weren’t just up late;we were lighting bonfires in open...