by Carol Casey The path is trodden, dusty, level.You know it will take youwhere many have gone. Step off—tangles of brambles,sometimes with blackberries,more often with little clawsthat catch on clothes and skin;and tortuous tree roots—inconvenient, sacred data unearthed—subterranean snakelets somehowsifted into snarls for feet to catch.There are stems that twine…
By Milner Place i have no right to speak for those who sleep in rags and pain and die like rats in steel-jawed traps beneath the walls of mansions i have no right but i hear clear their brave music on each gust of wind
by Milner Place the fleece the pub he used to use before he took up with a life of flight is now converted to a discount store an allegory perhaps for the full circle of a rootless quest was it barred doors of…