September 7, 2017

We’ll be driving soon,

through Appalachian hollows,

past cabins and skyscrapers,

over rivers and mountains,

between maples and oaks.

She’ll leave her knife at home.

I’ll carry money for tolls.

And together we’ll watch the landscape

roll toward the future, because that’s

all the...

September 5, 2017

He threw a vibrant,

flashy tantrum:

shattered buildings,

flattened a city

burned clothing into skin.

His parents tried to

ignore him, but

he was too loud,

turning heads in

the grocery store.

They gave him this,

as consolation,

though he threw it on

the ground:

an oleander,

more power...

September 4, 2017

I built a cabin on Mars –

a nice little one out of red

boulders, beside a steep cañon.

I like how the wind

whispers on afternoons

over the sand.

I did a fly-by around the sun

once – a day trip from my cabin.

It was pretty hot, but the views!

Spectacular, I’m telling you.

I’ve go...

September 3, 2017

I live in a village on the woodsedge.

Pin oaks and sugar maples lead past

creeping Charlie and dandelions,

beckoning me away from what’s human

toward something larger and smaller, both.

The chickadees scold me fondly,

the pokeweed sets its purpling berries, and

of an evening,...

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ISSN 2470-3834 (online)

ISSN 2470-7775 (print)