How to Know If Your House is Haunted and What to Do

by on Dec 9, 2016 in Poetry | 0 comments

I. Do doors open by themselves? Drawers? Closets? Is it autumn, and are the leaves spiraling outside in tiny twisters? Remember, wind can often move heavy objects like wooden doors or picture frames or empty caskets left in the parlor. If it’s not the wind, leave the door unlocked. Get...

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The Annual Scarecrow Festival

by on Nov 18, 2016 in Poetry | 0 comments

The Annual Scarecrow Festival was cancelled this year — in the fields as you enter the village, in the strawberries, there is one left like a sign warning last chance for a hundred miles. Unofficially, they made them anyway, fleshing cast-offs with fistfuls of straw, stalks poxing the...

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Love’s Idea Envisioned by a Satyr

by on Nov 4, 2016 in Poetry | 0 comments

Her legs must be long as rockets, rubbery as chicken bones soaked in vinegar. She must be ethereal, hands like talons to stoke the tender coals he gathers in the woods. She must arrive on the tail of an exodus, an eviction, or banishment. She must be Thumbelina-small, fit snug in the cup...

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by on Oct 21, 2016 in Poetry | 0 comments

We call it a starfield, which seems as nice a name as any. There is, after all, peace in creation’s creeping self-destruction. Even before humans slipped ships into the sea, never mind the skies, we softened the world’s endless layers of strangeness in comforting, familiar...

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Winged Beings of the Necropolis

by on Oct 17, 2016 in Poetry | 0 comments

The noise made by the 60,000 caged birds was tremendous but the stench which hovered in the air was strong enough to change the weather. 60,000 Ibises lived in the necropolis, flapping wings, clacking beaks and screeching. All of them were unaware they were being raised solely for...

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American Dreams

by on Oct 7, 2016 in Poetry | 0 comments

Maybe some memories run deeper than blood they hide within the marrow etch history on blooming brains. Formed in the womb, they are our ancestors’ whispers in fetal ears. The Gold Mountain and silver streets are just child’s things, dragon’s tails – perhaps real but always out of...

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