Poetry
Summer 1989
Bill the Landlord Learns to Fly
He is learning, we all are learning for thousands of years, he tells me, and it still is slow. For thousands of years we are raising up the body into […]
Poetry
Summer 1989
Passing through Hometown
The discount drugstore, the last place, is closing in ten minutes. There’s just me over here by the paperbacks, and three teenage boys analyzing rock magazines, and the cashier getting […]
Poetry
Summer 1989
Breaking
The holy light of loneliness shines inside a single cell across the alley tonight, lit up in the block-long grid of apartments and hallways and garage doors, a boy, sixteen, […]