I woke early and Str e t c h e d. The sun poured through the half-open blinds to Leave an A R P E G G I O…
Date Archives November 2011
SCARBOROUGH by Kevin Cahill
for Anne Brontë Blown-headed scone at the cliffs, Scarborough yawns. Its sugary cough full of the sea-air, full of the lungs that cannot pull the wishbone from the scamming waves prescribed. Our lungs…
HOOD by Kevin Cahill
In the darkness he sticks to his bones; unsure why. He is a shrug of stillness. After years soaking in the shop he did try, but the hair in the soup was too much;…