September
September 1st, 1939Â If those who do not know history are doomed to repeat themselves, we are in a tornado. Turning vicious cycles. The…
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My Apartment
My apartment I’ve written so many poems about my little apartment, what’s one more? This poem is about the lady two floors up, who…
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The Apple is a Meta-Cognitive Object
Note:    truth is not beauty neither is     beauty equivalent to truth dismissi ng the initial — Eve    (and Serpent)    Know what God knows….
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Hospital
By Nick Kellner
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Where Cotton is Mothered
– for mike the promised land is quarantined. double plurals are discontinued and our melodies hated. religious and destitute orphans fitted for…
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Body as Question Mark
He tells lovers I never smile at my own body, its not home, ’til your touch. He tells strangers take your fill. And they…
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Elegy for My Sister
In the park a red bird caged in dead branches sits still almost frozen enclosed in a space of nature’s creation. The elements welcome…
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The Traveler
Quiet creation surrounds thin-lipped conflagration. Living, breathing nuances speak dockets of cursive myopathy. I forget myself in crowds hypnotized by blood, plasma, + sweat….
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The History of Music
With unrehearsed bravado you rise and play a difficult concerto that makes your cheap new violin resound like a Stradivarius. You aren’t even on…
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Masturbation
Pleasure plays no part in this expo of inadequacy; every orgasm is a prayer, faithless but fiercely profound: please, send me someone. –Gareth Trew…
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