By Olivia L. Casey My scales too heavy now for me to rise.Scales jabbed tightly in my many achesBraided up in agony, I lie. I lift a wing and loose a weakened cryFor I have found a body too weak to wakeThe heavy scales I carry at sunrise. Anxious eyes…
by Doug Sovern People think I died ten years ago. Hell, even my own agent thinks that. I called there the other day. “Abe Vigoda for Mort Bloomstein,” I say. The gal on the phone goes, “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Vigoda is no longer with us.” And by “us,” she…