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...
by Warren Gaston | Dec 3, 2024
A ghost of dead Romans. A strange tree flowers and is cut down. Straight sidewalks, ancient dust. A bell rings and stops ringing. Drums resist being beaten but are beat anyway. The sticks rape the flesh of the drums. An old rabbi begins to grasp what is happening. The...
by Warren Gaston | Nov 30, 2024
A man sinks beneath the water immersed in useless oxygen, and the fish flops on the beach, surrounded by wasted air. Death to the man is life to the fish and life to the man is death to the fish. Yet, each are elemental breathers, distilling oxygen from water,,...
