Erik Lundgren Animals Can Talk I A deer had gotten his leg twisted in a barbed wire and tugged and tugged at it. A giant white gorilla, like a snow-covered hill within the forest’s edge, talked to the deer. Stars appeared, and he turned the stars into flapping snowbirds that the wind blew away into… Read More »
Laura-Marie Taylor sleeping After all the arguments are over, look at the lines in my palm. Hold me like a bundle of provisions. Think about thunderstorm desert. My heart is yours, and my problems are yours also. Think about how ferns look. Think about how quiet it is.
Erik Lundgren nothing could be done about the ring Nothing could be done about the ring, lost in red water. No glint got through. When the wind came up, he knelt down in the shivering weeds and he prayed, felling his warm hands pressed together. Nobody was here but it had just occurred to him… Read More »
Ellen Weiss A Saga of Symbeciles Listen up, my literary fellows! We must advance our symbolical quest. I shall shepherd you. In the beginning there is darkness – then light – as you leave your abode. Take the string of your choice, of which you have no choice, and proceed until, at the corner, a… Read More »
Erik Lundgren tiny dwarves grow out of the frosting Tiny dwarves grow out of the frosting looking as though they’re wax candles, but they’re not – red wizard’s hats and blue santa coats, blue santa pants and red boots. The frosting is waves and they are swimmers in it, multiplying like mold. A man with… Read More »
Laura-Marie Taylor a rattlesnake did its rattlesnake dance A rattlesnake did its rattlesnake dance in the clearing, but it had no markings. It was just tan. So we gathered six gifts for the medicine woman, three from each of us. The first I presented: a small scarlet pipe. She accepted. The second was a Rattlesnake… Read More »
Laura-Marie Taylor new giant I am becoming so tall no one will recognize me when we go a-caroling.
Laura-Marie Taylor ghost The dead man who looks for his wife could make you cry, his teenaged daughter beside him on the buggy-seat. The husband-dad goes up to the farmhouse after getting directions in town for maybe the hundredth time. “Is Mrs. Ruggs here?” he asks the woman who opens the door. “No, no one… Read More »
Did you publish poems in Pocket Trick? Please give me permission to put them here.