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.