Cupid’s Bullet
by Bill Edmondson The night I fell backward off the stool At Rancho Nicasio Bar And the owner suggested I get the hell out I gathered my bones
Harrison And Beale
by Bill Edmondson You’ve parked on the overpass Must get down to Beale Street Could take the long way around But the unmarked mouth of a
By Aleksey Porvin 5
Like March snow, you spend white until it thaws — dark patches, perhaps brightened by a pack of cigarettes — empty throw – away,
By Aleksey Porvin 4
Woods, too tired to walk into the white, did you not find a way to warm up to the blue amid the branches, wrapped round pines along a
By Aleksey Porvin 3
A storm cloud strikes a street with hail to mask despair (a passage to this earth with no choice in the air) ? The creation, liberty here,
By Aleksey Porvin 2
People roam the stalks searching for new life there, and each just talks and talks — as if all is prepared: among them all the chatter is