by David Macpherson
In the fall of 1994 I didn’t have a TV, so I bought used paperbacks and read them for the evening’s entertainment. It was Amherst, Massachusetts, and downtown had 6 or 7 bookstores, most of them with … Continue reading→
By Dave Macpherson
A prose poem walked into a flash fiction bar and ordered a Vodka Gimlet. The bartender, a Faulkner-esque run-on sentence, didn’t even twitch a comma; he just got out the booze and started making the magic. The … Continue reading→
By Dave Macpherson
We were in Wordsworth’s Books in Harvard Square, where we had been many times before. We were going through the stacks of poetry and I stopped, looked again at what I thought I noticed, and said, “Ah, … Continue reading→