He sat in the doorway  Of the dead superstore  The rain fell over the night  His guitar has no strings  He plays on Feeling the notes Strumming the rhythm  No sound but the rain He moans out the chords  To the empty street  Muffled by the rain

Helen hesitated, opened the lid, breathed, and there they were. Bright tall pink strong stalks. Her first forced rhubarb of the season. Reaching for it, she slid her hand along the firmest stalk until she felt the tender base,...

A ritual dissection of a malfunctioning oracle I. The Opening of the Cardigan...The autopsy begins not with a scalpelbut with the unbuttoning of Tonal Grump’s cardigana garment woven from misfired metaphors and verbs that refused to conjugate. Inside the lining, the examiners...

     “Each tattoo carved in flesh made him wince in painBut he, welcomed the disfigurement without regret or shame,      “In the distance the sound of sand cascaded like a waterfallWith snake like movements down skull decorated...

We speak a secret languageWe never stopped to learnWe all put out the fireWe still linger in the burnWe forget our friends and neighborsWe bend to idle handsWe waste our blessed timeWe lay our ground in sinking sandWe search...