Grave in the shape of a man staring up at a dismembered head he is holding in his hands.
My dead poems published in journals that no longer exist talking to my dead stories published in journals that no longer exist.
On a plane for Baltimore after a 3-year AWP hiatus. Got nothin to show for all that time except a quiet stack of research notes on the historical novel I swear I’m actually gonna write someday soon. Catch me happily following @avitusbcarle.bsky.social around, per usual.
I don’t even know anymore. War, the senseless murder of civilians, pedophiles in power, just a whole lot of fuckshit.
Waiting in line for a Gatorade at a horse show in Lake Placid. The dude behind me in line was Bruce Springsteen.
On January 24th, my parents home burned down. They and my disabled brother escaped with only minor burns but they lost everything they've ever had.
I'm running a GoFundMe to help them recover and rebuild. I would be deeply grateful for any donations but also for any shares!
It’s a specific kind of sad nostalgia, describing what a spot looked like before Helene to someone who’s unfamiliar. They can’t fathom it.
This micro by @lapharr.bsky.social captures the feeling so perfectly.
Oh, this is gorgeous.
“Another body, another girl, another name to say.”
New brilliance from @avitusbcarle.bsky.social. Read it right now.
