H. Edgar Hix Divine Providence Before you condemn Noah for incompetence, consider that you’ve never actually smelled unicorn farts. H. Edgar Hix is still in a state of shock and trying to discover what the state bird is.
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H. Edgar Hix: “Stuck”
H. Edgar Hix Stuck Having found the needle, I discover I have lost the haystack. H. Edgar Hix has had some poems published recently, which says something about the state of American letters.
Read MoreH. Edgar Hix: “Grief”
H. Edgar Hix Grief A sunset can be spoken about but never spoken. H. Edgar Hix is hiding out with his seven cats, dog, and very patient wife as he writes away.
Read MoreH. Edgar Hix: “Precipice”
H. Edgar Hix Precipice I pile my ashes and proclaim “My fire was here!” while fearing even the tiniest breeze. H. Edgar Hix is widely published and has appeared here and on Right Hand Pointing, and many places elsewhere.
Read MoreH. Edgar Hix: “Incapable of Sound”
H. Edgar Hix Incapable of Sound The blizzard’s deaf world was incapable of sound until the limb snapped. This is the 2nd of 3 consecutive poems we’re running by H. Edgar Hix.
Read MoreH. Edgar Hix: “Plash”
H. Edgar Hix Plash The sound of one soldier falling in dry sand. H. Edgar Hix would rather write poetry than have sex –tuplets.
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