by Warren Gaston | Dec 15, 2017
I chop three onions my vision blurs from tearing. I blame the onions, even though wounded news bleeds through my television. ——————————————— *a Japanese tanka...
by Warren Gaston | Dec 14, 2017
behind the furnace where heat blossoms out of gas I escape the crowd and rest near the blushing flame comfortable and alone *This poem is a tanka, a Japanese poetic for of 5 lines, the lines containing a syllable count of 5 – 7 – 5 – 7 – 7....
by Warren Gaston | Dec 6, 2017
Prose Poem Leroy’s mind was a fully furnished apartment which he rented by the year thus eliminating the bother to furnish thoughts of his own.
by Warren Gaston | Nov 25, 2017
flying dark out of the Pacific’s soaked sun sky we punched manic into east looking for Cleveland, looking for light
by Warren Gaston | Nov 18, 2017
Already there was nothing, then more, much more. Then there will be less plenty less, even less, nothing again. The world wobbles its way through time, more or less, time after time, until the time comes when time is more than less, not even next to nothing, nothing....
by Warren Gaston | Nov 16, 2017
In the morning the sun stretches in through the eastern window. All day long, the future becomes the present, the present becomes the past, all day long. In the evening, the sun slips out through the western window. ...
