Stories
Poem of the Week
You’re supposed to hit is the bull’s-eye, that black spot, precise spot.
Poem of the Week
At Pompeii the little dog lay curled and did not rise but slept the deeper.
Poetry
No more laughing like the waves. No more ocean of words to drink from.
Poem of the Week
You ask, Could we have coffee? No, my truth, I’m still on this side.
Poem of the Week
Sweet breath hard breath. Every breath a stone-cold bird in thaw.
Poetry
As a child I wanted to behold the elusive squid, the patience of eels.
Poetry
give me a fish and I will make a necklace of its sharpest bones
Poetry
I froze because, the absurdity. also, the urn had a loose-looking latch.
Poem of the Week
and still it is summer and each day the sun arouses the kudzu
