Poem
-
Everything that I Will Ever Know (Zine)
Everything that I Will Ever Know (poem) (for Eddie Montalvo) The archives are filled with Anita Byrants, white, wealthy, privileged, whose voices celebrate discrimination, colonization, filling up boxes and mudding up (whitewashing) history while erasing (bastardizing) our existence, and yet… within nooks and crannies within the gaps and interstices, hidden in the subtext of manuscript Continue reading
-
Distortion on TV
There’s a post I have sat on for a few months now. A post that I am not sure if I should write. It started back when we lost Andrea Gibson, one of my favorite poets. The shock that I felt when I read the news. The way my emotions boiled. It was as if Continue reading
-
From “after ‘Gravedigger’ by Dave Matthews” by Guillermo Corona
The way I while away the hours of a day listening for their voices, the sounds of their laughter echoing so far in the hereafter that I think of entertaining the idea that I may – one day – see them again, or that they’re still out there laughing in another room in another house Continue reading
-
“To Any Young Man Who Hears My Verses Read In A Lecture Room” by James K. Baxter
When some cheese-headed ladder-climber reads A poem of mine from the rostrum, Don’t Listen. That girl in her jersey and beads, Second row from the front, has the original nostrum I blundered through nine hundred parties and ninety-eight pubs In search of. The Words are a totem Erected long after the scholars and yobs Who’d Continue reading
-
From Monogamy Songs by Gregory Sherl
I prefer beer in a glass but I’m not attractive enough to bepicky. I miss Z the most when I imagine her leaning againstwalls and I’ve thought she disappeared. I thank myselffor writing the Bible. So many virgins converging on oneanother, my heart beating inside them. Gregory Sherl is a novelist and poet. He is Continue reading
-
From “The Book of the Dead Man (#1) by Marvin Bell
To the dead man, guilt and fear are indistinguishable.The dead man cannot make out the spider at the center of its web.He cannot see the eyelets in his shoes and so he wears them unlaced.He reads the large type and skips the fine print.His vision surrounds a single tree, lost as he is in a Continue reading
Chapin City Blues 