Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
Position B The man in the comic book shop breeds luckless monsters into kings. If scene by scene wasn’t enough the skin is shaved to perfection. He has his clarity but he’s not concise. Customers drool with ecstasy. I can Continue reading Position B & Three other new poems by Parker G. Jamieson
O! The Radiance, The Grit The forest Overgrown With divine machinery Posits Firstly A faint Glow Of tattered ages One year Dusts With black pills Climbing Railroad ladders. Not even oil Could muddle The granite Father Hated Nor Secondly Continue reading O! The Radiance, The Grit & Two other new poems by Parker G. Jamieson