“Poets of the Night” A Golden Shovel   who are we those of us who write what will our words amount to what can we make you taste   do we have the answers to life   walking the paths, at least twice three hours…

HOUR EIGHT Lines from ‘Mirror’ by Sylvia Plath Tonight the caustic wind, love, Gossips late and soon My tears like vinegar a tender breeze whisper some thoughts, tonight I am a coin silver- the mighty chunks of my unripe dreams caustic corn husk in an…

They watch us eat, quarrel, make love, sleep. ~ Of All the Highrises, Cathy Park Hong, Engine Empire In these sparse rooms, grief hangs like a bland painting. The ones with heavy shoulders, they work shaking hands through their hair. The small ones, the ones…