POEM ALONE

We appreciate the gestures: the orange and fuchsia                           Chairs, the free tea, arm touches of soft solidarity.          ...

My mom almost gave birth to me in the backseat of a taxi on the way to the hospital. My dad, per usual, was at work. He worked in the factor...

i. The Dulcimer Player (Toledo)   The tune, unknown to me, must have been old— its phrases answering each other neatly, its contours those o...

The sofa in the funeral parlour breaks away and I am a bird forever blinking in the gloom. At this banquet of death, I eat the endings of my...

I had to get away  though I knew  you wanted me to stay You don't know how the jangle of your keys makes me flinch  Or the clang of your...

in the space that exists now because you don’t write me I sit on a central American deck the yoga mat unused on the planks and a coffee cup ...

I’m on time at the airport gate, where a dream’s void opens green at the foot of my seat, an invisible weight speaks from it,  Where are you...

O’Reilly’s third pamphlet with Canada’s above/ground press is, as the title suggests, comprised entirely of the terminal form. As the book n...

...where sight vanishes into nothing...there has to be more  than dust, wind-borne particles of burning earth... - Phillip Levine What remai...

i.m. Michael Hurrell, 1984-2008 Here, listen to this, you said, eager to press play  on Tiesto’s mix for strings – stringing us along  to Ba...