by Mike O’Brien Despite the wild wind, I will clingWhen all that’s around meis losing its grip,being torn from its mooringsand carried awayin madness and mayhemto God alone knows Despite the wild wind, I will cling,When no one can hear meover the bluster,the terrible creakingthe clanking and crackingas what was…
by Christy Bailes Drought-rain slips off the predator until five-hundred wet pounds make him stand ground, spread like a picked-apart fan. Yellow beads turn his oily, spiked head, as I fly past, sweating ocean salt; it runs like interrupted feathers pulled from God’s washing machine, that dries now in cellophane…