Chuck Kruger

Why am I standing here with my back to the wind watching the rafters be raised? Me of the wobbly legs. Me of the valium eyes. I’m maybe good to carry nails, fetch the four-foot level, to and fro, to and fro. Little dinky things. Why am I standing anywhere watching anyone work? A year […]

I smell the sea between your legs, smell a harbor where one slow soft-chugging skiff unloads the salmon of the night. An indistinct hip-booted man anoints the fishing gear with oil and spreads his salt-caked nets upon the pier. My dear my tongue begins to taste your waters and I smell us together, smell the […]