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…
Browsing Category Poetry
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;…
Why I Do It by The Punslinger
Poems are as simple and infinite as similes. Image by: Pannini
How to See the Moon and Believe it is You by Cassidy J. Hodges
Six shooters of whiskey in bullet shaped glasses tumbling over trembling knees under desks. Finding your face in between toes pointing east rubbing against each other in shoes, sole worn The sun doesn’t…
Little, Lit and Left by Cassidy J. Hodges
Walk out and look over the lost moon, the caustic light dim in the murk. A river deep in the burned morning countryside, smoke standing at the edge of winter. Rough boys open…