Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
Mid-life Scramble She pushes pins into a doll, lights candles, recites secret incantations to jinx the blond-haired floozy who ran off with her husband. Her best friend tells her it’s a mid-life crisis, but he could call the crisis line Continue reading Mid-life Scramble by Pris Campbell
Bobby’s Wish Robert E Lee, encased these long years in bronze hat a plop spot for pigeons, thinks of the dead men once under his command, worn down and hungry, sick of war and death, creeping home through the trees Continue reading Bobby’s Wish by Pris Campbell
Tango When the mermaids of mercy come to me, trailing seaweed and translucent beings to my bed, they sing stories of when they had legs, walked earth with the dinosaurs before the floods made them half-fish, half women, like I Continue reading Tango by Pris Campbell
Just Say No Ever since grandfather broke the decency rules in my childhood, men in authority could make my knees buckle if they pushed hard enough and despite my wish that the earth would open, pulling them under with fire Continue reading Just Say No by Pris Campbell
Swept Away My fingernails dig into pavement’s end, a void opening beneath me. Columbus lied. The world is flat. The Mayflower barely made it. The illusions we live in fade as the planet tilts under the seismic shift of our Continue reading Swept Away by Pris Campbell
First Man Should he become ‘First Man’, Bill wonders what he will do with himself. Should he redesign the Blue Room in plush leather, pose in designer suits the press can review in GQ, make a film about which President Continue reading First Man by Pris Campbell
Gone His last clear memory was sailing over the hood of a car from his bicycle seat, brain reduced to that of a child, this man who used to be so brilliant, the top of his game, an undeterred star. Continue reading Gone by Pris Campbell