By Joan McNerney I want to make an angel in the snow though I am old for that sort of thing. That is something I have never done. A woman from Vermont told me about it. Nobody made slush angels in Brooklyn…unheard of… with no meadows to angel in. We just threw hard packed snowballs … Continue reading “Angel”
By Bruce Hodder There is confetti in your black hair, Allen Ginsberg. The sky is a dharmakaya blue. A young Jonas Mekas is filming you as you play your tiny Asian finger cymbals. Young people take each other’s hands and dance, eyes watching, fifty-one years later, on devices that haven’t been invented yet.
By Sahaj Sabharwal Minors are those less than eighteen, As they don't have knowledge in keen. They don't have a driving licence, As don't have driving sense. Minors are given just pen and page, Their life is not more than a cage. Holiday is not given even on sundays, As their age … Continue reading “NOTHING MUCH FOR MINORS”
By Laura Potts I remember it best as burnt lips and black that night when the mouth of the house spat you and your terminal news out to the stars and back. Before the last evening hours had passed, flame yielding life to the ember, the crack of your ash called a duskdark September … Continue reading “The Night That Robin Died”