Words

                            Dawn hesitated,                  Behind the clouds                           Clawing, at the                Dark summit scrapple                           And brought to her                Were age quivers                           Of bird shadows                From sun flights. Kristen Marshall is a founding member of Boulder...

the sounds of new home construction hammering nails into dystopian rhythms waveforms like ring droplets on still water spreading through our quiet neighborhood like a virus  coming off...

In grief:Take as longa roadas you need,mingling withheartbreakingholy darknessgiving spaceto each chasmcalling for tending. When emerging,coming up for breathhold firm in keepinglightalive and well,find ways...

Those who can afford tickets to the theater, opera, savoring the culture of a city of prosperity, where millions skimp on meals, worry about their children denied opportunity because of poverty, tormented...

Think of nothing . . .  without thinking of something. Can you comprehend no beginning and no end? For nothing always never was the absence of existence. Our     ...

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...

The robins flutter-bathed cautiously around me. I on the lounge, I laid with my book. The wrens fluster-sung to my proximity. The chicks demand-chirped from their nook inside...

I know that room inside youwhere you go to hide when you’re scared and don’t want to be seen. Where your back is turned away, eyes lowered if they’re...

Imagine being free from technology Listening to wind borne symphonies And the silence of shadows Listen.   Kristen Marshall is an artist, writer and a founding member of Boulder Rights...

In this random pick-up-sticks, double helixMelting pot amalgam and gene pool diasporaOf multiracial physiognomy, skin color,And multilingual saga, rhythm, and songOf European, African, Asian,...

There is a line in the sun As the crack in an egg I am wandering the interstate Walking on tired legs With dreams as diesel gasoline A glow...

Dear Nina, Two years in, milady, and all Boulder has taught me is that keeping up with the Joneses still keeps one oblivious to the...