Doug Anderson: Surrender, Panic, and Control
When I was living in Texas in the 70s, I read a book on lucid dreaming that offered a technology of participating in my dreams. I had always been a … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: Poetry, A River
If you set out on it, raft or riverboat, if you sound your way through the sandbars and submerged barbed wire, if you watch the crows riding the floating corpses … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: You in the Mercedes
You in the Mercedes with a phone clamped to your ear honking at the farmer who’s had the temerity to drive a tractor, slowly, in a no-passing zone, in front … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: The Overcoat
I carried that coat until the end, pockets stuffed with all I could not throw away: an open knife that cut my hand when I reached in for it, a … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: The Torturers
Took their break after they finally broke a man and made him lie, implicate his friends and cause their deaths. They washed off the blood, sat smoking in the shade. … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: Strophe, Antistrophe
When the men come down to the water they are ghosts, you can see their sorrow beneath the skin. They come down slowly, stumbling not looking where they put their … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: The Rich
. And it came to pass there was no place left to pile the garbage, no place to live, so the rich pushed all the others into the outer darkness … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: That Old Shakespearean Rag
Call me “u” one more time I’ll smear spittle across the lead sky of your impoverishment. Go ahead, bear-bait me at the edge of this blood-clotted age with all the … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: Trane
Gold snake muzzles down rat-eye alleys, pokes in hollows and hooch holes, gathers up the Hell-hurt passed out on bad juice or junk, noses out on the street, hubcup cymbal-ride … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: Tet, 1968-2015, A Valentine
Clouds heaped three tiers high on the horizon. Lightning whitens the chambers tier by tier all the way up. And again. Thunder like arc light bombing and more flashes. They’re … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: From this Rubble
From this rubble I reach down and retrieve a poem that requires no electronics just a sharp rock to scratch it out on another rock. There. Done. Now I climb … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: Singles Ad
Old, that is, damn near seventy two, but possessed. You must be able to love the inconvenience of the hot coal in my heart that goes white hot with breath. … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: Post-Apocalyptic Studies — The Aftermath, Precis
Anthropologists concluded that in the period after they lost their electronics, they were forced to talk to one another and to spend long periods with nothing to amuse them except … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: Revisiting the Second Iraq War
Now that we are sinking quickly into America’s Third Iraq War, we might want to take a look at what we can learn from the second one. On September 11, … Continue reading →