Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
SATURDAY AFTERNOON AT THE LAUNDROMAT sitting at the neighborhood laundry sipping on a diet coke watching the world tumble around the dryer news from Iraq not good the economy not good as I watch a young girl in yellow sweater Continue reading a.d. winans | saturday afternoon at the laundromat
Laundromat Prose Ditty Roskos, laundry poet supreme, asked me for this. I had laundry poems in my notebooks, but lost the notebooks-even a poem bout Joe Salerno, my old friend, and how it was snowing a couple weeks after he Continue reading joe weil | laundromat prose ditty
Simple Sonnet on Terrorism My name Osama Bama. I’m not the Dalai Lama. I come from Yokohama. I live in Alabama. I work at Panelrama. I ride a purple llama. I sleep in silk pajama. I don’t eat pork or Continue reading w.d. ehrhart | simple sonnet on terrorism