Author Archive for ekswitaj

Sunday Small Stone 92

wide eyes narrow, flash back to amber marbles and repeat on the way to sleep between the kitten’s own shadow stripes in grey and white belly stretch there are no clouds or drought or tigers

Sunday Small Stone 90

heavy soap scent loops around the stooped man in the center of the aisle— excuse me—then—the smell is just the aisle Related articles Friday Photo: Letter “A” (elfcroft.me) Spill in Aisle 9: Poetry’s Unexpected Relationship with the Grocery Store (poetryfoundation.org)

Words for #Ferguson

there are words tonight there are always words: they just come bloodier—but not so bloody as six bullet holes—and gorier than an everyday opening of veins and sanitary bleeding on a white page there are make-believe streets with real blood there…