by Timothy Pilgrim
We’re making the bed
after the night of failure
not that it’s always like that. Continue reading
by Timothy Pilgrim
We’re making the bed
after the night of failure
not that it’s always like that. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Susana H. Case
That day you accidentally locked us out
of our rental car on some road leaving
the Yucatan—Freud would have said it was
Filed under Poetry
by MK Punky
At his funeral
they say he came full circle
his life a grand improvisation
swirling past bel canto opera
to Korean hip-hop
making unscheduled stops at unmarked stations
slumming with the dregs and meeting presidents
Forrest Gumping his way to freedom
Filed under Poetry
by MaryAnne Hafen
My mountains bleed into my sky
on paper, and it looks wrong,
but it’s like real life;
virgo at summer’s end.
The world is too strange
to paint as it really is, too filled
with poorly pruned trees.
Filed under Poetry
by Daniel Thomas Moran
At the delicatessen on
Henry St. in The Heights,
he was the senior counterman
at only sixteen years of age.
The 8th grade diploma from
P.S. 32 over on Union made
him the family scholar at the
brownstone on Woodhull St.
Continue reading
Filed under Poetry