Words
Small Window
I
discern
a
tiny
space
in
one
of
fifteen
minutes;
two
days
later,
I
deduce
which
one,
approach
it
and
peer
inside
(can’t
tell
whether
it’s
bright
or
dark),
hoping
to
glimpse
a
poem —
or
the
closest
edge
of
one.
Jethro McClellan was born in Boston, moved out West before he turned five, and has called Boulder home for most of his life....
If I could fight
Dear diary,
I felt a new emotion
after weeks on end
of nothing but fatigue;
it was hatred
for the human race
It's been getting worse
after coming so...
Tree in Winter
You will be here again. Your eyes
closed in brightening light from
a window, open in winter. Magenta
blooms lidded, your forehead held
by a shoulder put forward...
Americans are returning to their rituals
pack your emergency go-bags, fireand flood are riding the waveof optimism don’t forget the iodine! Anne Waldmansays, we’re taking off our sweatersAndrew Schelling says—the poetsundressing, the climate...
Excerpt from Postscript #29
There have been more baby ghosts lately with few fit for heaven. The air in the room is toxic. The government feels threatened thinks...
The Gift Inside
Surprisingly dominant
the hard world —
flags and batons,
limos and air-conditioners,
mounted mooseheads,
bullets.
Our soft bodyshells
must conform or be shed.
Yet the totems
within our heads
are not lampposts
without lamps.
Nothing the...
Things change
Things change, always. You wrote this in my yearbook. I stumbled upon it last week. In the heart of the fire is a cheap...
The Rocking Chair Song
Be aware of the midnight knock, the one that sends you breathless out under moth veiled streetlights, no time to grab a toothbrush or...
CONCRETE BOREDOM
My heart beats change to a speed I can’t endure.There is only one cure;return to a rustic life with nature,free from this jungle lunacy...


















