Category: Poetics

I will just come out and say that my rage on behalf of your pain, when spent, mocks the hell out of me. I thought that if I had the grit to carry on through the...

I am the first to arrive. I find the table in the corner. The wood one with the loose grain and medium stain and cracks that run its length. I burrow down here ...

Some beauty to counter our confusing late January dun. Poem and picture by Wendy Morton: THE POND AT SOLSTICE Today, wind, alderfall. The thin December sun....

I cannot say as much as a blue butterfly, I do not speak Nymphalidae, and I cannot transform these few words into a silver-washed fritillary. But on this your 5...