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 boys but they never saw us— kings of the midnight curfew, co-conspirators of every stolen hour. We weren’t just up late; we...