by Warren Gaston | Jan 30, 2021
Many poems are the result of deciphering silence. Some poems are the result of deciphering noise.
by Warren Gaston | Jan 27, 2021
Because I have a skin. Because my skin is a particular color. Because the color is called white. Because white is privileged by custom. Because the custom is enforced by law. Because the law is on my side. Because I must do very little to be judged right. Because I...
by Warren Gaston | Jan 25, 2021
I didn’t believe then. I don’t believe now. Not in the efficacy of votive candles lifting prayers to heaven on small waves of heat. But in the Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourviere on a hill high over Lyon, France, the praise of city traffic rumbling below, the Rhone...
by Warren Gaston | Jan 18, 2021
If we could lose the body, skip it out over the flow of eternity like a flung stone skimming a river, shrug it off like a chip on the shoulder, remove it like a sweater of hungry holes needing to be fed and fed. Without the body we would not need politics, we would...
by Warren Gaston | Jan 15, 2021
In an airport waiting for flight, surrounded by others also waiting for flight, none of us present in the vast glass and steel sprawl, all of us already on to elsewhere, I saw a young man who did not look the part, sitting stone settled and still in his suit and blue...
