Poem Number Three Hundred and Eighty-Two
Poem Number Three Hundred and Eighty-Two by Philip Kobylarz Between a Dutchman and the Devil who can smoke the most? Only no one knows and
Poem Number Three Hundred and Eighty-Two by Philip Kobylarz Between a Dutchman and the Devil who can smoke the most? Only no one knows and
Depraved Indifference by S.E. Hart I struck him once and he recoiled with a smile a sly, cold expression some degenerative connotation that he rather
Homeless, Help Me by Sy Roth Like an armadillo rolled in a pitiable ball at the base of the wall surrounding the main branch of
Remembrance by Deeptesh Sen The morning after is always painful. Invasion of astonished light on your questioning glance; a cruel emptiness. Five bottles of aspirin
Handsome Daughters by Mackenzie Roark Handsome daughters have it hard. Always grinning with their gaggles of godlike guys and girls, cheeks chipping away because of
Vanilla by Bill Louma The beautiful bird talk is certainly a form of your tastebuds and fleshy lips. Verily your delicates flavor a teaspoonful in
Bobby by Suvi Mahonen Strands of light blue twisted, crossed over, then sank into the expanse of knitted wool only to emerge at the next
Silo by Jay Giacomazzo I figured it out this morning. my mind will serve better as a compass than as a night light. the rhythm
Fluidity by Mark Fleury Fluidity is the tears Under what high jazz cymbals Float on, welling up In eye bags and Bouncing off of a
Thanksgiving by Tim Nolan Thanks for the Italian chestnuts—with their tough shells—the smooth chocolaty skin of them—thanks for the boiling water— itself a miracle and