Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
Morning is a young blackbird bottom of our stairs legs splayed unusable chatters as our young cat looks up the treads to us on the landing. “Remove it,” says my wife. “Use cat litter scoop.” Paul Brookes was poetry performer Continue reading Morning by Paul Brookes
MORNING I wake up tired Like always Head pulses and burns behind The eyes I can hear my wife frying Bacon in the kitchen and Yelling at the kids to turn The tv down before they wake Up Daddy I Continue reading Morning by Dennis Gulling
morning two flies fuck on the edge of my coffee cup. Poem taken from ARBELLA. Poetry zine edited by Tom Obrzut & Anthony George circa 1990