e. e.
by Marcia F. Brown i. i. think u.u. would have loved this texting tweeting like a broken bird scattering the chaff
Window
by John Blair We whistle tunes while God’s work gets done above us in trees locked in screes of bagworm silk and dead leaves, streetlights
The Lantern Man
by John Blair There was in every hollow A hundred wrymouthed wisps. Dafydd ap Gwilym (trans. Wirt Sikes, 1340)
The Other Side
by John Blair Much there is that is unbeautiful, much there is that rubs the eye raw like sand and knuckles. In some farflung plane of penury
a toast to the apocalypse
by John Lorence a toast to sunlight’s smidgen of disclosure. to the magnificent bath of dark clouds being drawn in the west end. to the
the visitation
by John Lorence hours ago, in what is not yesterday, before arriving in his moment of rage, before being too shy was underlined, before ripping