Mike Maggio

The Herds are Charging Through the Room

Mother is crying. They have sensed something sinister, some danger perhaps: the snarl of a lion, the lurk of a predator on the prowl. Or maybe they have detected some force we cannot discern, some signal portending events more apocalyptic: the trembling of the earth, the violent belching of a not-too-distant volcano. They could not […]

Underneath the Griffin Tree

Wasn't just a few years ago I liked to lie under the Griffin tree. Least that's how it was known back then. A big ol' shady tree in the middle of a field where I'd go a-rompin' with the boys, givin' 'em of my sweetness, robbin' 'em of that last bit of innocence they pretended

Scroll to Top