Robert Walicki: The Ride
I thought my grandmother was a badass
after arm wrestling me for a pack of Swedish fish.
Robert Walicki: Two Poems
I’m stumbling out of the dark and back down again,
winding out of the rutted valleys of the Mon,
ass crack of the world and broken roads…
Robert Walicki: Storm
It’s 40 degrees, and windy enough to lift us
off the edge of the earth, and this hospital roof,
where we drop the heads of metal snakes down stacks,
next to exhaust vents carrying the breath of the dying
Kristofer Collins: A Poem for Michael Wurster
The only connection I felt to the mills
was to the children of a generation of flayed men
on unemployment, the storefronts boarded…
Robert Walicki: If a Tree Falls
A tree falls does anyone care if it makes it into this poem? A poem bone deep and raw, broken into bark and hanging on to the edge of a … Continue reading
Robert Walicki: Wet
Into those warm, wet fields again and again, where we came, pulled by the blur of light, after the last soccer game in the July dark, we walked off … Continue reading
Robert Walicki: Afraid
You were afraid they could tell by looking you were that kind of man, because of the dead deer who dove into the front end of your truck head … Continue reading
Vox Populi 