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by Gerard Sarnat  I’d never in eighty years done it this way                      that is, in old house, one floor hot and second not                      thus we now can avail ourselves of weather fits       […]

by Michael Mintrom I saw the four horsemen of the apocalypse drinking coffee on Church Street. Different from the paintings. No swords, no arrows, no scythe. No flamboyant sweeping above hay fields, smashed barns, chaos, death. Just old timers reminiscing about the rodeo. Their horse floats parked on vacant lots. Strange license plates. I knew

by Diana Raab Silence redux Unlike others in my past, your being is not one which hangs or hovers over me,   but you permeate and effuse my ethers, making a mark like leaky fountain pens   we shared during our second coffee, as we licked our tongues to chocolate covered ginger crystals,   glowing

by Paul Hostovsky Gray Day It’s the almost that I love about a gray day like today. In weather like this, I almost feel a kind of joy: the heavy sky, the feeling in the air of imminent release. I feel like I could almost cry. Cry as I haven’t since I was a boy.