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"On the second day, I got laid off from work and dreamt of pounding my fist on the pump of a Purrell bottle."
"She swishes sand, leaving wing-shaped tracks, / & on her back, carries a detailed / topographic map ..."
Fear anew the heat of the sun; it burns / the air like high noon in a prison yard.
"Maybe we’re cut too deep / for mending. Maybe we should try imploding like the Stardust"
"Beside you great rolls of yet more foliage / Their vibrancy is a reminder of your inadequacy."
Little librarian lady, last time I saw you / You stamped my book at circulation: / The Stoic Philosophy of Seneca.
"I would watch her weep sparks for Vegas Vic / who was seduced by Sassy Sally’s mechanical hips ..."
" ... gnarled trunks support branches, poised / petrified lightening, limbs / held up in terror / and surrender"
"Gregory Crosby Marked Himself Safe During the Violent Incident in Las Vegas, Nevada"
“Can God make a prison so / secure even He can’t break out of it?” / Well, what do you think the universe is?
"In Utah, the dotted lines seem to pull / the moving van up the incline not far / from Enoch."
I attended a 51s game on June 16 at Cashman Field with some friends. I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit that I had never been to a local baseball game ...
"The missile blows up on the launch pad, but there’s always / tomorrow."
"You say something / about the world’s largest thermometer, / which just now reads 87 degrees."
"Once at odds with you, / even now / I try to make love / from scraps of paper, / pieces of words, and leather ..."
"In the snapshots you see her / keeping an eye on me, I was a little wild / and I said silly things ..."
"Oh Vegas. You swank jacuzzi. You adept ducker."
"Twelve million and one street lamps / Were only a cheaply sequined dress."
"A hint of dye will bleed through, below the maps / Your veins scrawl"
"In one red image stamped / a boot unmakes the face of God"
"Nate was mannered and practical. He stormed precisely. / Ophelia nibbled weirdly on the tips of depressions."
A new poem by Noah Cicero
A poem by Heather Lang
"Nobody here but us / Those who toil the soil / Alice done left wonderland / deuces for superman"
What a perfect excuse, loneliness. Sex & violence, the essence of this,the confession that I do not conf
