By Keith Burton i was stretching my legs on the littoralgiving names to the shapes of the cloudsthat swam across the lake’s reflectionwhen trouble came crawling on eight legs. help me across he asked with a period. i knew better; i had an owl’s acuity.no can do, i know you…
by Grace C. Bennett What would it sound like, parted to sound? This is a dim bar in the gut of London. The moon is wrinkled on the water. Your striped red socks don’t match this boring atmosphere, I think it said Come sit across the table and tell…
