by Dorian Kotsiopoulos
If you trip over it on the way back to bed from the bathroom,
don’t plan on falling back to sleep. Continue reading
by Dorian Kotsiopoulos
If you trip over it on the way back to bed from the bathroom,
don’t plan on falling back to sleep. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by August Straumanis
This morning I was woken up by a marching band. The parade was in town—horns crashed through the treetops, majorettes passed out smiles like electrocutions to the crowd. A biker gang rode by with a caged tiger in tow, a small mirror lodged in its jaw. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry