Each day the quick kick of the dream / empties another body / and the ghosts move through unkempt streets / named Lincoln and Delaware.
(poetry)
from their beacon hands / glow worldwide welcomes and a thousand smiles.
(poetry)
at recess the innocent school / children play and gambol in / pure non-denominational play
(poetry)
The rose bushes lining the sidewalk leading to the front steps appeared like sentinels at the Mughal court, waiting for a decry from the Indian parent at the parapet.
(fiction)
“How and where women and minority groups get the shaft is only half of the lesson this book imparts,” writes Bean Gilsdorf.
(review)
I dreamed the sun, very low, / painting me a mustache of sweat and coal. (poetry)
I see that the innocent face / beneath the long-brimmed, straw hat / does not seem to know it is raining.
(poetry)
I wondered aloud / if on those odds days / where I felt like a hunted squid / that what I was actually feeling / was Light Cerulean Blue.
(poetry)
I can ring you up for / what fits in the bag. The rest is your responsibility.
(poetry)
All the other cool calm quite sensible terms had stable gigs in respectable stories.
(poetry)
