Lost Souls were Tugging at my Handkerchieves
Lost souls were tugging at my handkerchieves
poetry
In Favor of Circles
These have been condemned, like muttering,
Memories for Two
Talking on the phone,
Husband
The Grim White Woman
Bootleg Coal
Once men passed through the iron gate
Notes for an Irish Canadian Girl's Portrait
Under thick brows, dark-slashed against white skin,
Up the Hill
The child gets without thinking to the mountain-top
St. Dionysius Martyr
God loves all existing things, said Thomas Aquinas
Under a Streetlamp in Piccadilly Circus
Old whore, forgive me for your bone-hard buttocks,
Word of Return
The turn has come with the tiding to good weather,
Pages
Current Issue: No. 301
