Poetry
Poetry
Two bikers, the bartender, me, and a skinny girl in skintight blue jeans.
Poetry
At night the voices on the patio sound like small darting birds.
Poetry
Years ago I wanted parallel lives, to see how it turns out for all of me.
Poetry
How large our muscles have to be to lift our wings even a single time.
Poetry
My brush an M-16, thirty-round clips for tubes of paint, all of them red.
Poetry
Even the busiest of businessmen are out for the count, paying the price.
Poetry
Soon everything here will be sopped up by time. Only art will last.
Poetry
There’s nowhere he can kiss where she hasn’t been kissed by the sun.
Poetry
A child no bigger than small change calls from her window j’ai faim.
Poetry
Through the dark, we say, through the dark: but do we ever really know?
Poetry
Regarding the affairs of our Father, your demon is Ennui.
Poetry
I’m from Boston, is that why I imagine Fredrick’s emotions for him?
Poetry Contest Winners
At Walden Pond, Henry Thoreau clicks like on the “Wilderness” page.
Poem of the Week
Dainty morsels do not fail to attract gentlemen as well as ladies.
Poem of the Week
She bequeathed her children a mother who dreams and smiles.
Poem of the Week
Like lions in cages, women like me dream . . . of freedom . . .
Poem of the Week
With these fingers, afraid and aware, I stroke your delicate skin.
Poetry
i silenced with my hands the loud wet thing that would not let me sleep
Poem of the Week
The old hen scratches then looks, scratches then looks. My life.
