a.d. winans | early winter poem

Early Winter Poem I take refuge in Billie Holiday sipping on a mug of coffee alone in my apartment rain drops playing hide and seek with the windows like lovers with a secret it is peaceful, tranquil here like a Continue reading a.d. winans | early winter poem

a.d. winans | prisoner of loneliness

Prisoner of Loneliness Loneliness in my heart Billi Holliday in my soul I make myself a hot brandy Toast the ghosts of the past Open the window let a fly out One prisoner here is enough. from Big Hammer No. Continue reading a.d. winans | prisoner of loneliness

todd moore | pure blood primal: the poetry of kell robertson

Cowboy Poet, Kell Robertson, Outside Vesuvio’s Bar, North Beach, San Francisco, 2001, Copyright: A.D. Winans I’m listening to Kell Robertson sing When You Come Down Off The Mountain. His voice sounds like his throat has been sandblasted raw, gravel over Continue reading todd moore | pure blood primal: the poetry of kell robertson

joe weil | life had gotten…

Life had gotten too clever for Hondo Molovinski. Cleverness was at the core of all his broken relationships: clever women, yoga instructors and lawyers, women from rich families who slummed with Hondo because he was reasonably good looking, knew the Continue reading joe weil | life had gotten…

alan catlin | old ladies at the flea market

Old Ladies at the Flea Market They most come here every week whether they need to or not, these old ladies in wheelchairs, with walkers, canes, surgical stockings stretched over swollen ankles, varicose veins as they creep down the aisles, Continue reading alan catlin | old ladies at the flea market

eliot katz | midnight poem

Midnight Poem Well, I’m home on my 49th birthday, after a movie, champagne, & loving, up late, still drinking champagne & listening to Monk & Coltrane’s new CD that Vivian gave me. It’s a new CD, but it was recorded Continue reading eliot katz | midnight poem