My opinion is that some go there with two weeks worth of dirty laundry and take up too many washers & dryers.             Others come and empty the change machines for their poker games or parking meters, then leave. At least one has stolen a nice sweater, when they thought I was reading my mildewed paperback.... Continue Reading →


~ Though ugly are those thorny trees with octopussy limbs, —I say they're Kings of Forestry- conductors of its hymns.~

A thousand cuts

Forgetting the landscape of shaving, I run the razor sidewise, coaxing a bleed. We have forgotten Corinthian love, or never knew it and wonder if it exists. Wounds, we have, unsalted but unhealed.

A settling day

Meg had put it from her mind for too long. Today was a day of change and of ending. Which way...which way? Long she had walked. The further away she got from grasping hands and tearful faces, the greater grew her resolve. "God, forgive me." she thought. [Art by Deb Garlick]

No fool like an old fool

I whistled well when I was young- An artifice of breath and tongue. It ruffled almost everyone, Save you, my funny shadow. I met you in the grocery aisle Unwitting of your secret smile I hummed a tuneful ditty while I squeezed an avocado. Funny- how you had the nerve So forward, and without reserve,... Continue Reading →


Joey spoke to himself behind his mask of mute. People didn't make sense anymore. He was in singsong thoughts, and all that was reaching him was the rising scent of his scrambled eggs and the underwater music of voices. Colored, they were, and in his mind he swam. *** Art: "My friend Pierrot", by Max... Continue Reading →

In blankets

In we stayed, us kids, during the short days of that long winter, while Grand Dad saw to the animals and smoked his pipe. Well, what can you do in feet of powder snow in the flatlands? Not even good for a fort. Checkers. Cards. We fought. We read in kerosene light. *** Art: Winter... Continue Reading →


In paint, you have described my dreams as if I were your ancestor and you had come across dusty tomes of them, written in too-early wakings. And it’s so odd and pertinent that the visions are all Untitled, yet seem to have come from my own cold rooms, leaving blanks on the walls. *** Art:... Continue Reading →

The lost


He dreams of things with tattered wings, open mouths, and lolling tongues. Heaven’s impostors, fallen from grace. Thirsting but never slaking, they lie impaled in the pines, their chill voices forbidding all who may think to touch.

Art by Zdzisław Beksiński, untitled.

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