by Colin James I was digging under the bar for some fresh gum. "What you got down there?" Don't usually pay attention to pronouns abstractly. Questionable intentions on my right. "Hey", the aphoristic. Another room search for hallelujahs. Roadhouses that don't require silence nor eponymous practices older than words.
Let Trees Be Trees In downtown Houston nets catch leaves like fisherman catch fish forbidding Fall from littering sidewalks like denying springs Blue Gills & Bass. Hundreds of leaves trapped in mesh like coils of hair caught in Condor Bouffant caps create simulated neighborhoods like fashioning fraudulent self-images. Branches bend like prayingRead more about Let Trees Be Trees by Kendra N. Bryant[...]
SUCH GREAT HEIGHTS From such great heights people appear very small. Their buildings look like plastic toys. The great trees look like tapered toothpicks. The traffic at the end of the day looks like ants swarming for honey. Those bridges crisscrossing the river look like a 3rd grader threw some spaghetti. Faces cannot be seen.Read more about Three Poems by Casey Fuller[...]
Dancer on the Stage, Dancer on my page My pencil glides with her skirt’s flowing lines, gently sketching subtle designs, then it pirouettes on its sharp toe, shading her susurrating shadows, while the paper trembles at each stroke, like the brown, windblown leaves of an old oak. The dancer leaps across that stage while myRead more about Dancer on the Stage, Dancer on my page by Carl Teegerstrom[...]