The Midwinter by Erwin Ponce The fallen snow was as crestfallenas a mimicry of crestfallen snow.The falling snow was falling like rain,like listlessly falling rain. We dream that things keep falling apartand things keep falling apart. Sometimes Manila is sad...
Housesitting by Deirdre Lockwood You had to turn down Swampy Dog Road.An old New England farmhouse, set back from the road. Too many books,Moroccan rugs, furniture inherited or acquired. A poster of Amelia Earhart:Women Fly. That summer we took care of it while your...
When Will She Ever by Melissa Studdard O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall —Gerard Manley Hopkins Life arranged through appointments,nightfall, small tasks. Not oceanmind. Not blazonbrute or valor. Brooding onlythe pen capfrom which the writing...
Aphorism 42: If You Were As Innocent As You Pretend To Be We’d Never Get Anywhere by John Blair Sin is its own reward whereveryou find it & in whatever darkness; when you’re slapped you’ll take itand like it Sam Spade saysin The Maltese...
Lucifer Harps on Beauty by Brad Crenshaw As we know, the world is fucking magical.Let’s say one night cominghome late the way it’s always beenafter a gig playing bass, standupbass, which itself is a talent worthhaving even before the literarycritic in his beers tipped...
If I Drink the Violets, by Ronda Piszk Broatch you must hold the glass, in case I become a fever of absence. In my old version of creation, our cosmos was birthed by another cosmos. Which makes me fortunate, otherwise Johnny Rotten would never have let me on...
