by Sarah Louise Green
A gang of seagulls throw beaks into bread.
He’s been coming here to feed them
Poems
Poems: Archives
Work equals force times distance
On July 7, 2010
by Brian Clements
when you walk up the stairs
and open the door to your office,
switch on the light and the heat,
and pull back your chair,
Only Wet Sand
On July 5, 2010
by Stuart Greenhouse
If only wet sand could be used, and only
under the wrack-line is there wet sand,
well, there’s your problem. Too little
to carry too much up to
The Lark
On June 30, 2010
by Timothy E. Bartel
Two unasked ornaments—we receive them
Christmas morning from our father:
A cardinal, crimson for my
The Vital Function of Constant Narrative
On June 27, 2010
by Marlys West
If the world is but a place of language, at last
I know wherefore I talk too much.
