I just want to be a poem, To let my motions move you to speak, So you say my name in A thousand different ways, each word A drop of rain captured on pen tip In a spiral notebook I want my eyes to see you As you speak my language written In silver letters […]
I just want to be a poem Read More »
Sitting in tavern on South Wabash, look up, see on television set one very, very ugly man, black man with great growth on forehead, huge shoulder, neck. Think, another show about black criminal everyone fear here. No. Grotesque black giant open mouth and Dmitri expect curse, but instead sing. With voice that angel if were
March has ended once more. In Tennessee the trees are gowned with light green, in Washington cherry trees sparkle white-pink parasols. Here the mountain crevices still glow white, stale sky shining behind clouds tinged with gray. Blind to the calendar, the cold parches grizzled brush, and small green globes among the roots drowse. This time last
Cutting Down the Old Growth Read More »
At lunch today, took stroll in Grant Park, in rain so gentle nearly hover, coat open to almost warm that now for three days bless this February. Much dirty snow have percolated into ground, revealing umber shingles leaves and flatted grass already perking, like boy hair in bed at dawn. And what rich smell of
Unseasonable Happy Read More »
they exist in the spaces in between in the gap where dark meets light out in the open yet hiding in plain sight blending into the background of this prison playground never sleeping always feeding yet growing hungrier with each bite *** An eternal student, Jacqueline Rivas is happily retired from the “professional world” and today spends
Forward Dmitri Ashkanov first crossed my path in the early 1990s at Nelson’s Books where he worked as a clerk. For a couple of years, we spent a fair amount of time together, in the bookstore and in the taverns and coffee shops down around van Buren. Dmitri didn’t bother with personal resumes when he