Ars Poetica Harmonica
Call me aerophone. Call me free-reed. I am the song’s honey-comb: on nostalgia’s star-flied, toe-tapped, steamy-screened- in porch, I bay […]
Call me aerophone. Call me free-reed. I am the song’s honey-comb: on nostalgia’s star-flied, toe-tapped, steamy-screened- in porch, I bay […]
The fourth leg of the dog with now only three was the in-the-way one he’d lift in order to
I come every other day to check on them. It’s not enough, but I don’t want to be around their
During the Christianity wars in Paris 1572, three Huguenots were skewered on a spit and roasted. They happened to be
That’s my dad, I say, pointing to the man in the photograph with thin grey hair reflecting river-light. And that’s
Tonight they’ve hung up lights in lilts across 2nd and Water Street on the downtown mall, a Christmas choir