Poetry – Year V – Number 37 – June 2020

Dumb Blonde Was I his? It did take me 50 years To consider the possibility I did always say: “He was my best friend in high school” Not “We were best friends…” I have no idea what he...

HANDS Can pluck a Stradivarius, sculpt a David out of marble, pleasure oneself, or a loving partner, scratch an itch, pick your nose, wipe your ass, write a play, applaud and give a standing ovation, tie a shoelace or...

MALPENES PUXARRA CÓSMICU Por Xe M. Sánchez ¿Pescáncieslo agora, nesti tiempu de peste, d’incertidume, de llerza? Nos, que dexamos les nueses güelgues na...

Nature’s Fan golden light, a smell like downy wings of pigeons at the crown of a young mother’s head. it is the first, if not the only thing i see, shining brighter than a cherub’s flesh, a...