Dead limbs
dirty snow
a quarter moon
left out too long
breath sharp with
sawdust, fills every step
can’t remember every
angle
branch or leaf
if only this
rush of light
offered forgiveness
More from Issue #1
Call and Answer by Matthew J. Hall
Poems I wrote in the early hours are placed in water tight bottles and entrusted to the tide. I stand in wet sand at night searching for a glass encased reply but…
Art’s Bar by John Abbott
One of the only Workingmans’ bars in town Situated near the GM Plant; They catered to the men Who worked the line Kept the food simple The jukebox stacked With blue collar…
The Midway by John Abbott
There’d been a rumor All summer that they Would close down the midway By the lake Everyone in town knew It was seedy, no place To bring your kids For a night…
Matinée by John Abbott
The girl lifts her skirt To the boy from Biology Who wouldn’t touch the scalpel But now grips her flanks with nails That should’ve been cut She’s on his lap, back to…