Howie Good Yoko Ono at MoMA Light a match and watch till it goes out, a painting made to be seen in the dark. Source: Titles of conceptual works from current one-woman show. Howie Good has a brand new leopard-skin pill-box hat.
Read MoreDale Wisely
Allison Rhodes: “Stage IV”
Allison Rhodes Stage IV Although they warned that her passion could spark a cigarette, she refused their rain and danced until ashen pale. Allison Rhodes is a logophile hailing from a small Canadian island.
Read MoreIan Gibbins: “Why Mice Cannot Type”
Ian Gibbins Why Mice Cannot Type Read my palms, the gritty creases, calluses, the life-line I barely can see, the crystal ball I hold between my finger-tips, penetrant as X-rays through my hopelessly unyielding ligaments, the inevitable crippling subluxation of my knuckles flexed, extended, grasping for a future I cannot imagine, a past I cannot […]
Read MoreLen Kuntz: “Unseen”
Len Kuntz Unseen On that year and that exact day when things were brittle enough as it was, I found myself between a loamy field and a forest of stilted trees while my brother took everything I had, right there under the swollen belly of a an unseen Heaven. Len Kuntz is the author of […]
Read MoreBill Barrett: “Desire”
Bill Barrett Desire Were I but a sluice of oleomargarine or oil of damiana rubb’d ‘pon an undisturbed bun or splayed ovate of some slattern Lola Falana. Bill Barrett is a poet who lives by the ocean.
Read MoreRobin Wyatt Dunn: “No”
Robin Wyatt Dunn No I have a gun in my pocket I named Saturday, which is the day the buildings outside— No, I don’t remember. Robin Wyatt Dunn writes and teaches in Los Angeles.
Read MoreGabriel Patterson: “Storm Music”
Gabriel Patterson Storm Music My dad’s heart contained the lightly-tapped melodies of a steel drum. Gabriel Patterson (@GabePatterson77) is still convinced that even in the digital age, books have funny ways of finding us.
Read MoreTony Press: “The Burning of Red Hill”
Tony Press The Burning of Red Hill David said he had matches, too, so we walked up the trail behind my house, and later, after the fire trucks finally left, everyone blamed him because I was the good boy. Tony Press lives near San Francisco and tries to pay attention.
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