Jun 15
Land of the Free, Home of the Tropical McMansion I was born and raised in MIA 305 Dade County City of Kendall Home of the peacock & The mango The conservative Cuban, The orthodox greek The jewish private school The WASP barbecue The midwestern snow bunny Turned resident avocado expert The white Puertorriqueño Where you …
Jun 07
The Raging Goddess of Limbo Brigitte went into the house and came back out with our blanket and her favorite flashlight. My Bridge collected flashlights. She had a brown paper grocery bag full of flashlights. This one was red and chrome with a decal of a spaceman with the lettering “Captain Ray-O Vac.” Night had …
Jun 06
bruise a nation of ghosts, and they all wish you dead and sooner or later it’s gonna happen can’t be 1994 forever, okay? can’t waste yr whole life being pissed at yr father because what was he actually guilty of? had you pegged for all the things you weren’t not a poet, not a suicide, …
Jun 05
Land of Nod in the Washington Tavern Having him around, while otherwise alone in the bar, three hours past midnight, was like living my own Zendeath poem. Any minute I expected him to punch in his favorite Golden Oldies on the retro juke for mood music: “All Those People Who Died” by Jim Carroll, Talking …
Jun 04
My Own I don’t like being seen digging in to the ground. I don’t like being spied on while cutting things down into smaller pieces of me. I do most of my work inside my own mind. My own space with windows shut, doors locked. Instead of writing a book review, I write another review …
Jun 03
Every Idiot is Somebody’s Son When my son loses his job as he invariably must, he won’t admit it right away, but I always know. He gets a squirrelly look in his eyes. I’ve no better way to describe it. His eyes get squirrelly. Now, I’ve been told squirrels can be stupidly industrious. I don’t …
Jun 02
Better Than The Best American Poetry Dave Newman Roadside Press Reviewed by Aleathia Drehmer This morning I read Dave Newman’s “Better Than The Best American Poetry” from Roadside Press. I am not sure that I had ever read his work before. He and I write very differently so maybe our work would not cross each …
Jun 01
Americana I grabbed Don Delillo at a used bookstore, not him personally, I am not the president, but grabbed his book, Americana, cover worn to the point of being free, got home, flipped through it like a flipbook, found a bookmark between the pages, no, not a laminated banned booklist or a massage parlor business …
May 31
Unknown Poet on a June night at the beginning of summer I started going back through some of the old magazines where I had some of my early poems published and when I read them over again after so many years had come and gone it was like discovering some unknown poet for the very …
May 31
Rising. We kissed by the crumbling church to the early morning birdsongs rising from the cedar tree, before I walked home to Sunday morning beneath the old railway bridge. I woke up later just to happily paint the skies green and fields blue. With a ceasefire apparent from the silence of the polarising voices that …
