Selected Works

Last Kingdom in Astoria

Helena, you used to call me your King. Now your ashes are in an urn that sits in a niche at Calvary.

Mariss calls me the king like she feels nothing for her father like I’m a big joke to her. And at sixteen, she acts like I should be happy she’s around. She’s doing me a favor, and I tolerate this because I still have you watching over us, soothing my deepest insecurities. But Helena, how can you help me now?

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Found Poetry