print previewback SPENCER HANVIK
Regret Economies
Cash counts the cows
to the grind beevy dead.
Pour me the sour.
Leave the gamble back
on the table there.
Count the cinders off.
Souls hanging on the transom?
The keys are with the note
that’s coming.
Collapse our humble bar
back into its parts.
Return us to life, oh, cows,
that we may be softer,
that we may make smaller
ourselves than before. 
Regret Economies
Wolves Grovel at the Gate of an Abandoned Fourteenth-Century Hermitage