Mini-festo When one of my favorite teachers told the class, “Calling it art merely means, ‘I like it a whole bunch,’” you don’t know how much that freed me. I liked that class a whole bunch— so I damn well better call it art. Ditto that little dance you did just for me, the sun […]
Read more "GEORGE YATCHINSIN ~ MINI-FESTO"This always ends in a question Suppose it’s not a place. What do you mean by that? You talk about it like you’ll be walking around in a celestial snowstorm, without the cold. Maybe, this is all just costume, cheap jewelry that tarnishes and we move on to another existence in a new […]
Read more "CRAIG KIRCHNER ~ this always ends in a question"Archaeologist, Marauder, Husband If I were tiny I’d plant a shovel in your heart and excavate the rocky flesh. I’d shimmy an awl around the stubborn stones. I’d even light itty bitty sticks of dynamite if I came upon a boulder that didn’t belong. I’d dig ‘til I find the alcove he hides in, the […]
Read more "CODY SCHWEICKERT ~ Archaeologist, Marauder, Husband"Mile of Music Standing downwind of a cityfilled with song and all I can smell is the ashof Canadian wildfire but can just make out the soundof alcohol beneath the traffic carried in from the Easton a railroad staccato of blues-soaked countryechoing from an open bar while a punk-rock woah-woah-woahwafts from the southern river bank– […]
Read more "RANDY STREU ~ mile of music"Art Exhibition The egg box was so sculptural, a mirror of life in textured paper, almost a work of art. And then I remembered the glasses left behind in a museum of modern art by error or intent, real glasses, not the “ne sont pas les lunettes” Magrittean sort, I could feel some guerrilla art […]
Read more "LYNN WHITE ~ Art Exhibition"Proteus Shape shift, Old Man of the Sea— I will hold you down in your midday nap. Tell me what you know— about the zigzag, spin, loop and bounce of sandhoppers, cuttlefish, or football. Periwinkles smell the corpses of their crab-killed teammates’ disposed juices, and drive with helmets hard into crevices. Extensive wear on the […]
Read more "JK Miller ~ Proteus"Necklace of Genealogy In Florence’s lap her hands rest like two rusted chain links tossed aside on the dock. Maybe she wishes to rejoin her genealogy, drape her family around her neck, stagger to the edge, let gravity plunge her into drowning state to lie on the sea floor rusting together in salty silt.
Read more "Diane Webster ~ Necklace of Genealogy"The Conversation “What did you learn in school today?” “I learned the days of the week.” “Go on, tell your dad.” “Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.” “You’re missing one.” “She’s doing her best.” “Say them again.” “Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.” “You’re wrong. You’re missing one.” “Honey, you’re missing We…” “Don’t help her. […]
Read more "Elizabeth Rosell ~ the conversation"Answer songs sell well From her cave, high in the Michigan Avenue cliff, Wendi plots the morning like a military campaign against many enemies, visions of the inside of the flat, brown stone. The trumpet shall sound. On the way up, Wendi sang country chants with GirlJane at the Immigrant Aid concert where the Obama […]
Read more "Answer songs sell well ~ Patrick T. Reardon"
