About the AuthorBookshelfWhat's NewReviews

Barcelona Diary

Tita Avendano

As she strokes her guitar

a shy, young fox, curled in the comfort of her lap, tenderly licks
a rich & ruby wine from her breasts.

There's a hint of a man with green shoes & a taste for needles, signs
of a frail woman culling kittens under her eaves.

Though she rarely abandons hope, a peacock guards her chance advances,
drives wolves & locusts from her womb.

There's a dark streak easing up her back, through her hair & into her eyes.
I've seen these signs before & am sure she must sleep in a hail of bees.


Barcelona Diary
It's Mother's Day
By Dawn's Early Light at 120 Miles Per Hour
The Man With His Back To The Room
Intimacies, Prose. Poems and Stories
Homage to a Widow
It's Only TV
Improvisations - Chapbook
After Goya
Improvisations - From Contemporary Music
Mustering What's Left