“The boy with his shattered skull stitched
runs his fingers over the bridge
Van Gogh’s rainbow impasto arcs…”

“The boy with his shattered skull stitched
runs his fingers over the bridge
Van Gogh’s rainbow impasto arcs…”
“it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear
just sing and knead and roll and press
my purple pleasure”
“I welcome you in.
Ban the banter.”
The curiosity of stones
above gray-banded surf…
You cried because you dropped a butter knife.
Everything I do is stupid and wrong!
By Ace Boggess No hat. Sunburnt, mud-flecked cheeks.He works hard, trimming bushesinto elephants, piling leaves,digging a trench by the fence linefor his own reasons. “What’s your nameagain?” I ask. He…
by Sheila Murray-Nellis Every day for weekssmoke muffles the mountains.Particulate on the incoming breathflattens each hue to haze, as flames lick their wayacross the beetle-killed back countrystressed beyond endurance, sparkedby…
by Michael Dechane The wind from the west is stillunmaking these mountains:each branch and blade tip pointstoward the sea, the sun that rises.From the summit I see around myself.See winter…