A crow perched in a tree. When they are silent. They know. Why return to the boat. Once you go. The first tree they see. Cut like a goat. Just. To be.
Robert Witmer
Before I had finished explaining, the guy in the dream woke up.
He walked away from the tree, so that when it fell, no one could hear, and so, perhaps, silence fell.
An audio file deleted by mistake. The lecture never attended. Ideas misunderstood.
A red sun bedded by the sea. Bare feet in wet sand. Seagulls fast asleep. On one leg. Sacred to Aphrodite and the White Goddess of the Moon. Voluptuous and gullible.
As far as I know.
Robert Witmer
You are dragging yourself dry like a headless towel gone with the wind, dutifully running away from the herd, licking the floor, fretting over chump men, a dynamiter man, whose muddy footsteps are inclemently hard to clean off my driveway.
running out of days,
flip the sanity
already overcooked.
Joana Figueiredo
Oh Lizzie, she was a milliner girl,
making hats in the alley,
When along came a swain a whispering,
‘I can make you happy.
Oh Lizzie Lizzie come with me,
And make your face your fortune.’
So off went Lizzie,
stream of red tresses a flowing…
gallery exhibit
curl in a space
space in a curl
Oh Lizzie she was Rossetti’s girl,
making art after her fashion,
When along came a swain a whispering ,
‘I can make you happy.
Oh Lizzie Lizzie come with me,
And take your fix don’t dally.’
So off went Lizzie
stream of red tresses a flowing…
gallery exhibit
space in a curl
curl in a space
Oh Lizzie she was a laudanum girl,
making the best of her sadness,
When along came a swain a whispering,
‘I can make you happy.
Oh Lizzie Lizzie come with me,
And make your fate a tragedy.’
So off went Lizzie,
stream of red tresses a flowing…
gallery exhibit
space in a curl in a space
in space
Diana Webb
Ashlyn
Ashton
Braxton
Brooklyn
Caitlyn with a c
Creston
Cresslyn
Eastton with two t’s
Eeston with two e’s
Evelyn
Jazlyn
Kaitlyn with a k
K8lyn with an 8
Kingston
Lynton
Packston with a k—sorry—with a ck
Pakston with just a k
Paxton with an x
Qaitlyn with a q
Quinnlyn
Quenton
Quinton
Remington with an i
Rem‽ngton with an exclamation point—sorry—an interrobang
Rem!ngton with an exclamation point
Southeaston
Tonlyn
Tracelyn
Trenton with just an o
Trentön with an o with an umlaut
Westlyn
Weston
Zayton with a just a z
and double-z Zzayton
mock orange blossoms
keeping up
the Joneses
Joshua St. Claire
…and to think my shiny new goat feet might soon be dancing in that grove that Natalie was singing about all those years ago…
paleodicots being the other it
Joshua St. Claire
Sometimes we forget that Lichtenstein is a major pointillist just as much as he is minor country, a museum, a book, and a hill.
onomatopoeia
I just can’t
do this anymore
Joshua St. Claire
welcome come in are you okay sit down make yourself comfortable tell us what happened tell us everything the whole story we will listen carefully harvesting whatever information is of use to us discarding the rest then we will issue our judgement on you on your essence and on your existence we never could tell the difference but anyway please just sit down and relax and give us the fucking information
Irish sunrise
the inevitability
of imputation
Tim Murphy
My sister has been in and out of hospice care. On a chilly December day she says “It’s as cold as death”.
“Can we say it is as hot as death in summer?” I ask.
“Have you ever seen a warm hospital or ER?” she questions me back.
hidden stars
slowly reappear
early dusk
Mona Bedi
enters through double glass doors.
Her body leaning, red crochet crowning her head.
Dangling tubes connect to the green oxygen tank
she’s pulling with her right arm. In her left hand,
an old worn sax case.
Trumpet and bass call to each other, bebop, bebop.
Rhythms fly into the air from JP’s electric guitar.
Fingers swim across the black and whites.
Sitting next to me, she sways
to Charlie Parker’s “Ornithology.”
Then the MC announces:
And now we’ll join Ruby, playing Green Dolphin Street.
Slowly she opens the patinaed clasp
and lifts a worn brass sax; one arm steadies her tank.
The wheels clank-clack up steps onto the stage.
She slips her mouth on the reed. Strong vibrations
build to a crescendo. The room becomes the music.
People tap. Their earlobes dip to the offbeat.
Slinging her sax aside, tubes and tank invisible,
Ruby sings like a yellow-tipped whooper swan
flying.
Norma Bradley
