THE WEEK SHALL INHERIT THE VERSE

INTERVIEW WITH THE COUNTY REPORTER for Robert Earl Stewart So many deaths that summer that sometimes I showed up and there was noth...

LATE NOVEMBER, STATEN ISLAND Foggy St. George sleeps the sleep of late morning sloth & there go the men with boyish haircuts. No...

AT THE FARM I was sitting in the car counting the black flies They had come in through the open window There were four One w...

BIG SIGHS What’s not to like? Days coast in and then coast out on a frothy surf, as if surfing from one foam latté to the next was t...

WE ARE SMALL AND SO WE THINK SMALL A puncture in the sun’s eyelid, one ice pick at a time. A blister on each of our enemies’ heels. ...

TO SPEAK IN TONGUES AND FASCINATE Turn up the volume everywhere. In each and all the rooms you frequent let the sound expand of radio, ...

MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT POEM My heart, I feel, is counting down. Trees surge from the floor of the city. Crazy-veined. Claws. The gas ...