Featured Poetry

See
the lawn chairs? That is us sitting there,
waiting for a harvest moon
to saunter its way across the sky.

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Who will listen
to the futile wailing against the sawtooth

of pare and scrape and suture. Who will notice

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According to Chinese astrology,
I was born in the year
of the Rooster, but these days
my way is that of the little sparrow

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Dreaming, always dreaming
of shimmering turquoise ocean waves
sparkling at dusk,
singing to me, to us: rush-sush, rush-sush.

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See the way the sun casts 
almost no shadows on the hill
where they sit posing?
I am sure someone snapped

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Dear Theo,
Gauguin wants me to paint
from memory but I struggle
against his instruction
when my face craves the sun,

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