THE PARAGON JOURNAL BLOG 

June 24, 2019

Between the hills of this city

the wind gathers like a symphony

low brass in the cracks

of brownstones     trill

along window sills     the soft

snare roll of loose leaves

street side a tree

                          fractures...

June 21, 2019

morning arrived unannounced

before the winedrops could dry

                    from blue pillows

little shivers in finger sockets

birds sing just once

          can’t we watch...

June 20, 2019

this possible october

     when the whole

of Pennsylvania

                         burns

violet ringing

like her cavernous

irises as she tells me

...

June 17, 2019

because i’m lonely.

because my best friend got one and it seemed to work for her.

because there are only so many Jewish men in the world

and depending on where you live they aren’t always easy to spot,

and at some point i just realized i didn’t want any of the ones i’ve al...

April 16, 2019

Breathing in the fresh scent

of milk and baby powder,

and tracing your smile with my finger

I raised you to my face

and kissed your forehead –

It was my first day as your mother.

I dragged my feet

clutching your backpack and water bottle

and your hand too for some time.

But you...

April 15, 2019

It was a beautiful night.

You –

You are wonderful.

You are all perfect,

But even still –

Still, I wonder,

Walking on suspended stone,

Wonder if I might fit seamless

Into the ripple of the river.

Step off the edge, at the perfect angle,

Disappear into the still,

The even pulsing

St...

April 13, 2019

as in desperation, he recycles traumas that aren’t his own—

which is to say nothing came of the long months’ promenade

of honest source experience he couldn’t see,

the e-zines didn’t care

for film scripts passed as sonnets anyway,

or of insights bought w/ coffee shop visits...

December 22, 2018

The way rays on our skin warm or change

or burn us. The way a widower feels

about his house, that he wouldn’t mind

to see it glow a little, wouldn’t mind

a female ghost in a daguerreotype

to set his life on a bike and send it

down a gravel road toward the forsythia

and all th...

December 21, 2018

A cure? You prefer

hastily drafted feelings,

a glass of artificial progress

under the caricature

of an attractive artist

with tremors. You fake

thirst, pointing at solvents,

find your soul by clicking

marbles against the window.

Melancholy is our concern

if peers recognize burni...

December 20, 2018

Walking down a path of gold,

wondering what to do,

seeking the warmth within the cold,

searching for a clue,

the road that's glinting in the sun,

is beautiful to the sight,

at the peek of the hill you start to run,

something doesn't look right,

you see a dullness that's new to...

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ISSN 2470-3834 (online)

ISSN 2470-7775 (print)