ANNE STEVENSON Sierra Nevada Landscape without regrets whose weakest junipers strangle and split granite, whose hard, clean light is utterly without restraint, whose mountains can purify and dazzle and every minute excite us, but never can offer us commiseration, never…
CARLA BURANELLO SLAPSTICK TWIST My heart is old this evening, an old heart wearing a wig of words, absurd dentures of metaphors, his lips tinged with borrowed blood, he fakes a fervour he doesn’t feel. He twirls, winks, somersaults, showing…
RICHARD BERENGARTEN 1. Who is not in exile. We make and remake poems and songs, so that we may go home again. To this making there is no end. 2. Home is by definition where mine is shared with you…
