I wait for you while the sun seeps out of tea bags in backdrop of overnight porcelain retrieved from cold memories. On cobblestones, patterned iron dazzles white. They sit with prim backs like austere monks in deep contemplation of laced tablecloths switched out of yesterday’s stains. I wait for myself as much to arrive as […]
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Whiplashings of sun run down arms that squeeze necks as if to say: the hot floods my air filters when you whisper ignorant things; I whisper them but your mind is elsewhere. I can tell by the way the windshield sizzles like scorched slate as a troop of surfers hit the beach and the wave […]
You and I, at opposite ends of the universe, perform our unusual dance, you, spinning clockwise to the delight of the audience, and I, in opposing rotation, clapping my hands to the rhythm that sustains us. Your sudden collapse becomes my death, my spin thrown akilter, my charge reduced to zero. Angelo Giambra’s poetry has […]
Words says the janitor I just keep getting swept away till the floor is clean— that educated shine polished with spit from the tongue. Danny P. Barbare has recently appeared in Hollow, Sojourn, The Tau, and Willard & Maple. He attended Greenville Technical College where he studied creative writing. He has been writing poetry off […]
Got so high I finally felt like myself.
Brags about the solid granite. How his sweat and stretch polish the stone. That endless is his torment. As if forever means more to him than to us. As if he’d trade his burden for mornings writing checks our mothers can no longer sign, or his ever upward effort for their long downhill slides. Truth: […]
Grandma dropped the lizard down the garbage disposal. “I don’t like animals.” Her excuse muffles the Crunch crunch rattle crunch Of the lizard Pulled apart With the orange peel and the meatloaf and the broccoli and the half-eaten weight watchers Jello Leftovers. The lizard was a left-over. Over from the swamp. Pre-condo Pre-golf course Pre-garbage […]
Awake to heavily pounding trains. Pass my window, shake my spine. Split with fluttering light of day my head and take me down the stairs to where my daughter taps and talks. So little, spritely, light and flighty. Lost and half asleep I wander through the morning and the morning and the morning waiting for […]
Missed Connections by Christina Kallery “I look on here daily hoping someone noticed me enough to post an ad about it.” –Anonymous in Trenton, Michigan To the garbage man in the orange truck, who chatted up a lady by the Hollywood Tan, would you guess she’d love another chance to watch you hoist those overflowing cans? […]
It starts in Canyon Creek Hospital, where, on Sunday mornings, he waits for his mother to die. She rasps my name as I come to stand behind him. But all I hear is beep, beep, beep: a funeral march for velocity. Each week there is a little less of her, another inch of bone […]