Amid a Bevy of Red Roses in the Bed of a Twaddle Truck

If you don’t get this there’s no need to go radish or knock something over. Red roses remedy the lackadaisical. Would you like a piece of fallen green apple tart, all the way from Wenatchee? The red roses he gave me I squeezed into gravy he poured on his raspberry pie. By the time we were…

To the Reader Staring at a Paywall

Behind this wall of paper lives a poem no subscription will reveal. The poem is invisible. No journal can hold this poem. There is no log-in, no fee, no access, yet the poem is free. The words spill into the paper like seawater over a levee. This poem must be imagined. Later, after the reader…

“Moonishnessly”: for Susan, Who’s Been Reading the Toads

Moonishnessly We were children then, when we settled on the moon, amid drifts of silver shadows. Our parents were still alive, down on Earth. We had no fear of flying, outside of airplanes, no fear of flying on the wings of birds, daily flights to the moon, one-way flights. We walked on the moon all…