Groping
The carolled angels fade away.
poetry
Hope
Through purple dark and sifting sands
Miss Emily
She lives alone,her giant vine-hung dwelling
Epitaph
The grey pallor of death
Radio
When the singing commercials
Death came, not resounding
Death came, not resounding
Poem
From this top-knotted old iron stove,
Communion
A cube of bleached, white bread
Aisles in all the world
Aisles in all the world are leading down,
Poem
These are strange fields that stare through Gothic windows,
Pages
Current Issue: No. 298
