Thousand Islands
the 401’s for robo-sharks: constant exits into flat cornfields with occasional Tim Horton’s hidden in an eddy. A stagnant stream with a median strip, max 100 km/h, plus provincial police…
the 401’s for robo-sharks: constant exits into flat cornfields with occasional Tim Horton’s hidden in an eddy. A stagnant stream with a median strip, max 100 km/h, plus provincial police…
by the time we had bitten (into) it, you were already gone: as dusty as pastry flour now, that so often stuck to your skirt. A swan song crust, flown…
She begins with the Business Section, crumpling The heads of corporations into their flammable Numbers. She makes a pile of these. Then she becomes an architect of kindling, stacking the…
When September Sun crosses the crosswalk at State & Center and through my south-faced screen -I know it must be the 21st. Dodging between turning maples, glancing off the deli’s…
kind-of-backward, running from my baking shift down to the farmer’s in Easthampton. Harvesting the winter wheat today, down by the Manhan River. Bottom- land -so bottom spots got flooded out…
the Pope’s loss is my gain, it seems: this old dough mixer pulled out of a boarded-up church (St-Dominic’s) up on State Street in Portland. I imagine a 40-year apprenticeship…
a year and a half since the buildings fell and here we are re-building the whole thing (in 10 minutes or less) inside a jazz club in Boston. Not a…
Stuck again on Calvin’s ever- widening bridge to nowhere the motor idling, the radio moaning, the bumper in front of me extolling car-less ideals that fade and jade in a…
William is the First Bass Man, Hamid holds down the battery with those solid sticks. The trumpet covers the infield, the sax plays plays out -way out. Eri Yamamoto plays…
While some folks claim that the bakery’s just an elaborate front for a vanity press, it IS true that one of our (unofficial) mottos is: "$6 a poem and you…