By James Croal Jackson Perhaps divinity is in devotion– pages of textover thousands of years, eternal ramblingin the clockwork ticking the days to etch instone the wings I’d searched away, blindfaith in running water, erosion of the endlessnights I’d stay awake to eke out meaning.
By Jimmy Pappas We are bats at the mercy of young boysthrowing baseballs high into the nightsky under a streetlight causing us to chaseafter the movement only to swerve awayat the last second still searching for moths. & We are magicians’ helpersprivy to the secretsbut never findingthe adulation we crave….
By Jimmy Pappas (This poem contains suicide.) Everyone owed me a call.That’s what she wrote,her suicide note of sortsposted on a sticky padattached to a boxof Christmas presentsshe never mailed out. That’s how it all works,isn’t it? We owe each otherthings: the book we borrowedlong ago that we kept holding…