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- Declining Damage
- The Great Excavation
- coming out in no particular order
- This town; a breathing crocodile, is a sad town…
- My grandfather on a sandglass
- what the little girl meant to say when the long-haired journalist asked: where are you from?
- The man who wrote bad poetry
- The dilemma of a poem
- a poem you read from right to left
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- The Great Excavation eunoiareview.wordpress.com/2019/04/19/the… 19 hours ago
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Category Archives: Reprint
When Dad had his easy operation he quit smoking, cold turkey, and Peggy and I traced and crayoned the encyclopedia’s glossy plates. I gave him a cardinal, a goldfinch, a blue jay and still know those basic colors, their cocked … Continue reading
I was another puzzle piece placed in the archetype of a boy and his dad. He used to teach me how to ride a bike. He’d pick me up whenever I cried; bruised knees, bleeding. Lazy Sunday afternoons, crispy snacks … Continue reading
The fishing drink, as my father calls it, with a thin string that grows from its half-bodied sachet of crushed leaves and cheap netting. A miniature form of his fibreglass rod, the pole vault that propels him into his next … Continue reading
you are — a sore in my mouth, born savage amid the delicate vowels i spin for mother; the last rotations of summer, all cracked lips and missteps into sidewalk puddles. my head tilted & searching for a requiem to … Continue reading
Those politics will eat you for breakfast and leave the empty plate smeared with grease That’s not God in your needle That’s not love in your message That’s not virtue in your stained glass That’s not power in your eyes … Continue reading
—after a photograph by Colleen MacLaughlin One answer lies in the tropospheric molecules scattering short blue waves and vapor meeting minus-sixty. But what’s the burning question? What orders the eye, the brain, to catch all the colors after rain? What … Continue reading