fall fugue
by Wade Linebaugh the pebble in my mouth tastes like chalk, an acrid river-rock culled from the bed of earth’s strangest river. i sympathize with
“all the tired horses in the sun how’m i s’posed to get any riding done?”
by Wade Linebaugh Being a strange boybird, Icarus is too busy to take Mom & Dad’s calls & a little girl eats wagon wheels covered in
To Whom
by Anele Rubin To whom can you say the wind suddenly stopped, the evening clouds were tinted pink, the mare laid her heavy head on my shoulder?