Words
When Hurricane Hearts Discuss Retrogrades
Roguish Mercury went on a wicked mission this round,
squared up with Pluto to shine racism in the limelight—
Black boy shot at for needing school...
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...
Going Back to Bed
Going back to bed
is the ultimate adult dream
Subject of snooze button thoughts
Excuses
Reasons they may have closed...
Know less, wonder more
I’ve always had a hard time expressing myself,” says poet Andrea Gibson.
It’s hard to believe, especially since Gibson has made a career doing just...
This Winter Day
What are WE to one another?
If not reminders of our
Continuous connection to Earth
And to the Love inherent in Her Creation.
Where...
Landscape, Mid-Consequence
The oft-oppressive miracles
of the combustion engine beckon
from whiny highways of a degradation
we must call fair
An asymmetrical face
appears in the exhaust drift
between the taillight and...
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....
Arguing with Something My Dharma Teacher Said
There was a bumper sticker in Colorado in the 90’s that said, “Shit Happens” — you remember the one? The next one was a...


















