Because of their format, several poems that appear in the current issue are included only in pdf. To read them, click on their titles on the right side of this page.
I row with the wind in my apple-wood skin,
maw on crow’s dust and raw turnips.
What feeds on want behind the masks of houses?
A year of rain in an hour.
Then dawn. On the Quikcrete
patio a leaden mirror.
On Sundays we composed our own music.
Tapped a nickel against a mailbox,
pounded the wall with the heel of our
palms, and sought a demo-type sound.
Strange word for so simple
a thing as a flat felt hat.
Don’t forget your bear-ay,
my mother’d say, and I thought it
You nicked me
now give me back,
Summering in Pennsylvania
and wintering in Florida
would give me two addresses.
Making a pilgrimage to Albuquerque
to give thanks I cheated heart surgery
of a bad outcome only last month,
On a road leading to where I used to live,
thoughts go back to friends who would visit,
most now are in places quite exquisite,
I remember there was a big bridge
with a toll, and for once I had change.
The river was a shadow of itself below
A cartoon rider on a horse so real
it shits and stalls and rears against the rider
it’s been saddled with in this narrative.