by Gil Hoy On those windswept weekday mornings, asphalt driveway crusted with snow, my father would get up early, put on his secondhand boots and an old coat, and exit through our front door into the blue hour to get the motor running. That fifteen-year-old station wagon would stall if…
by Jeffrey Kingman I’m dissolving into a girl on a pier on a lake. I thought you might see yourself that way my washy pastels. If there is a pier and a lakeyou might come along as a pair of eyes a singularity and all you can do is remember…
by Jeffrey Kingman after Kerouac’s “On the Road” she went out in the mud to find a head between his knees the two foggy bundles wandered there together from the steps of the motel court alone mixing up their boys a prowl car came by possessions moved along self-propelled hunchbacks…