Frank Stanford sitting on a cumulonimbus near the gate that bypasses Purgatory
By Richard H. Fox
— It wasn’t a dream it was a flood — Frank Stanford, poet (1948-1978)
I need a wingman to watch my back
Yearly Archives: 2016
Rorschach
By Bill Livingston
The spilt milk on the table looks like a giraffe in heat.
The exploded pen ink on the white shirt looks like an abandoned lighthouse.
To Francisco Guevara, poet, longboarder (- 28 November 2014)
By Karlo Sevilla
I don’t know you:
Was surfing and by chance rode the ad for “The Reddest Herring,”
to be launched on your first death anniversary.