By Jim Speese Songs were in his head. Constantly. It was a problem and he supposed it wasn’t unique. Given the hegemonic presence of advertising jingles and TV show themes and music pumped into grocery stores and pharmacies and hospitals, it seemed quite likely that the fact that songs constantly…
by Steven R Weiner You are in a room where machines chirpLike chicks in shells who will never peck free, Machines too sleek and modernTo be birds, with spikes and curling tubes Arrayed around small screens trainedTo display your cells in codes, finding patterns Of polarized cells and their magneticEnergy…
by Steven R Weiner There was a thin dignifiedUpright old ladyAt the front counter –You know the type – they gatherIn churches and other sanctuaries –Paying for her toast and tea with small change.I wondered what she meant by saying“I was up late watching the moonMending its silver-haired cloud fineryWith…
by Steven R Weiner The music of barely singingIs hard to writeCan scarcely be heardLike voices rising from green wood,Shy smoke mixing with the steam,A little sibilance behind the daily buzzingLike harmonics so subtle that you can’t hearThem but the sound’s so full and richOr thin as an old tea…