by Warren Gaston | Jan 6, 2025
Typing hours I relax my hands arms dangling fingers spread beside the chair I feel the cat’s rough nose rubbed in my palm. How did she know, after hours of artifice, my hand needed animal attention?...
by Warren Gaston | Dec 27, 2024
Celebrating Paul Cezanne (1839-1906) Cezanne, out with his easel near Aix-en-Provence, painted gravity with a light brush, coaxing round density out of apples, the angular geometry of men playing cards, mountain massiveness against civilized sight. Sensation is our...
by Warren Gaston | Dec 25, 2024
It is blue. It is green, not pearl white, not golden, and infinitely brief. 2000
by Warren Gaston | Dec 23, 2024
I am looking at a photograph from World War II. A soldier stands alone facing north toward China. His left foot rests on a football as if he had just stopped its bouncing and his hat is cockeyed as if he had just slapped it on. He appears at the right edge of the...
by Warren Gaston | Dec 18, 2024
I want to celebrate the talent of teeth, the bite, the grind, the tear, the chew, something my gums alone couldn’t do. Mexican street corn is best. I pop in the fire flavored kernels one by one in homage to my teeth. My jaws crush the tough roasted kernels,...
by Warren Gaston | Dec 15, 2024
A short list of people who were never born, not conceived, not thought up, until now not even fictional. Romulus Baird Laurel Frankenstar Bertram Bacardus Willy Simgrip Ivor Pollingham Missy Darman Hans Harlow Renee Tussore Tuzla Niderstill Rosa Effel They will never...
by Warren Gaston | Dec 14, 2024
On a shore in west Montana the universe grinds on a stone. Waters rush, sturdy grasses rustle. Farther out, bright-eyed iridescent trout hunt trap-mouthed for plump, delicious bugs flashing in the sun. Nearby, stolid mountains faking sleep, await orders from deep...
by Warren Gaston | Dec 12, 2024
Three girls arrived in all loveliness that is the blossoming of women, and sat at a table near mine in bright conversation. Suddenly two boys appeared like lightening without the storm and sat down with them slovenly, pink knees jagged through jean holes and caps...
by Warren Gaston | Dec 11, 2024
The planet is dead Killed by cold children Playing with fire.
by Warren Gaston | Dec 9, 2024
after reading Japanese death poems I am against death, not dying, exactly, but death, the way we do it. We don’t do death, death does us. Death is not a temporary inconvenience, certainly not for the deceased. When it’s over, mourners want to get in the...
