That first fall something found me there, the greys and browns of northwest Pennsylvania, what little light you find come November, the last of the leaves flapping just a few here and there, and yet … Read More ›
Poetry
The churchbells on Sunday
I get behind two lesbians in the Italian market, this medieval town in Germany — the market, no bigger than an elevator car, a telephone booth, and I say to the guy behind the counter you can leave the cheese… Read More ›
Full disclosure, on writing (The Hex)
I blew myself out of the page with nothing to make me feel real except the thought my eyes could be my hands and my breath could make me believable.
Who made the constellations
The days fanned out, an ocean of stars came into view And Crow was there too, a star in each eye gave him sight — the same glow on his wings gave him flight, and though it took a million or more… Read More ›
Dots on the hill
Last Friday in the States until sometime next spring. Moon fattens to a claw. Danced the trifecta of drink starting with Tequila out of pint glasses sucked through straws, licking the sides, backcountry animal tongue. Took the morning walk to… Read More ›
Pick me out a poem
After I ate the poet I left the shells piled high on a plate translucent-pink, done just right — and after all that picking out the meat, it looked like more than when I started, once it was done.
The coin of the realm
It twists and shifts with the pace of a Rube Goldberg machine, drops men from boats to dangle in the sky, forest green figurines crouching, aiming, leaping — heroes in the minds of boys, heroes in living form some call sacrifice. A plastic American… Read More ›
Sure
My grandfather has fallen asleep with a paperback in his lap, hands braided, glasses on — and I watch his reflection from the bathroom mirror where someone has left a stick of deodorant by the sink that says Sure, and I am… Read More ›
The frail edge of belief
They look back at themselves thinking they will see something more but never do, they are still the same. We are the modern harvesters picking turds out of the grass, bits of glass that could be made into something, some day. Who… Read More ›
Zen fortune cookie prize
The man hatched out of nothing and spent his whole life trying to lose it so he could return to a place he didn’t remember but thought might still be there if he believed it was.
Bill Pearse 