Jackal
It is remembering the hurling stones.
poetry
A Kind of Place
Let it be a tender summer
Communication is two souls reaching out their hands
My soul's tentative hands stretch forth
Letter to an Executive
The reality of existence is difficult
Farrago
They said it was merely
Seduction
We studied the friar
In the Recovery Room
My leaves are quite wilted
Alien Landscape
The buildings formed a solid line
Old Mr. Culhane, Irish to the bone, he Says
Old Mr. Culhane, Irish to the bone, he says
In the Night the Little Cataraqui Died
In the night the Little Cataraqui
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Current Issue: No. 301
