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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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Tag Archives: Michael Berkowitz
in our fluorescent secrecy. You still in New York drifting back and forth between a portrait and all the portraits in the world. You haven’t gone yet, and the fact is at home I never got the right person, I’m … Continue reading
Instead of dog years, I would prefer to measure time in moth years, by a moon not full but waning, not howled at but named for, not Indian but gossamer summer nights. Not the nobility of turning always homeward, but … Continue reading
The way steam lifts from leaves the way birds lift from branches migratory. Transitory the way flame lifts from flint the way morning lifts from moonlight Michael Berkowitz is a poet, web developer and aspiring trapeze artist. He lives in … Continue reading
I’m old enough to remember when plastic seemed marvelous. A flick of the wrist and leftovers stayed left over. My grandmother in her last good years asking how many girlfriends I had. I don’t save money the way I should. … Continue reading