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,