by Warren Gaston | Apr 28, 2021
Our electric sweeper commits unnatural acts, creating what nature abhors, absolute emptiness. Switched on, absence happens, a whirr of depletion, a surfeit of vacancy. Air rushes out. Dirtdust rushes in. Fillfulment. That’s why I bought it. It...
by Warren Gaston | Apr 25, 2021
Autonomic Stepping into my doctor’s office, a masked woman points a gun at my head, pulls the trigger, reads the digits of my human form of fire. I pass. The right range, to a degree. Too hot, my skin would liquify. Too cold, my blood would congeal. The genius of...
by Warren Gaston | Apr 19, 2021
You know the rules. I say to you. We are not supposed to think certain thoughts. Or if we think them, we have a social obligation to remain silent. Which thoughts, you ask. You know the ones, I answer. Did you hear that? No! That’s one of...
by Warren Gaston | Apr 6, 2021
We are all born dying. New born or centenarian, the clock ticks, the clock ticks. Eventually, eventuality kicks in. The healthy become dead as do the sick.\ The ratio of death to life is one to one. Death is the natural outcome of birth. It’s just a matter of time....
by Warren Gaston | Mar 24, 2021
I. Water, envious of the cold stone bridge, longs to become solid. II. Flowing under the cold stone bridge, water freezes to slick silver. Looking down, I see the fallen moon. III. Burbling under the cold stone bridge – water – almost ice, seeks to become...
by Warren Gaston | Mar 22, 2021
hard power engines hot tail pipes, dark tires, defensive bumpers. children, not to be had, dart edgeless through light, invisibly silent lost in the sum. a crossing guard, orange vest & gloves, a warning, not much, a gesture thrown against losses. 1972 Elgin,...
by Warren Gaston | Mar 19, 2021
There are few things more dangerous than the solution to a problem that doesn’t exist.
by Warren Gaston | Mar 18, 2021
We are far away from the house. Does the house sense our absence? No faucet drip for eleven days. The sink bone dry. The sun warms night from the windows. The drapes remain closed. The walls echo no sound of slippers shuffling toward first coffee. Does the floor miss...
by Warren Gaston | Mar 16, 2021
It was not satisfactorily explained to her. Was the runway too short, the passengers and cargo too heavy, the air flowing under the wings too slowly, the weather too quickly turned severe, the pilots caught in a wind shear. No matter. The man she loved for forty years...
by Warren Gaston | Mar 9, 2021
Sitting on the balcony looking out at Tampa Bay I watch the day progress in shadows. Early morning, I see the sun rise in the east, shadows cast by the balcony banister run west across the terra-cotta deck, crossing the tiles at oblique angles. At ten the precise...
