Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
Poets on the coast I imagine it would be difficult to have writer’s block with beach and sand and Compton. Redwoods and desert, Hollywood Boulevard, and the vampires of the club scene. Nightly news footage of the latest and greatest Continue reading Poets on the coast by Jason Galt
Ugly as a mule (But the man has personality) “You got a helluva face.” Machu Pichu told me It was right in front of the penny slots. Green diamond carpet, remnants of rum and cokes, Mexican menus, dog-eared race track Continue reading Ugly as a mule (But the man has personality) by Jason Galt
Strange days with Pablo “There’s not a lot of money in poetry these days.” Pablo remarked as we sat at the kitchen table. I grinned, “Was there ever?” “In the 60s if you belted out the fire you could expect Continue reading Strange days with Pablo by Jason Galt