ISSN: 1941-4137
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
Cover
Masthead
Susan Deer Cloud:
Playing Marbles
Dan Nowak:
A Return to the Past After History Failed Me
Katie Hartsock:
The Sun Does Not Rise, We Turn To It
Naomi Glassman:
Miles until Michigan
Michael Keshigian:
Landlord
Andrew Terhune:
The Rabbits of Chicago Wait Only for Me
Mel Sarnese:
Family Reunion
David W. Landrum:
Jugville, USA
Todd Heldt:
The Problem with Memory
Tad Richards:
Mittens
Benjamin Russell:
Picasso's Loaves, 1952 (a photograph by Robert Doisneau)
Richard Lighthouse:
activities during meetings
Ryan A. Bunch:
At the Graveyard
Samuel S. Vargo:
Just a Rainy Night in Georgia
Caitlin Ramsey:
Handy
Kyi May Kaung:
Geese
Steve Klepetar:
Kids Today
Steve Trebellas:
Sweet Dimes
Dan Nowak:
Walking Through a Snow Storm is Like Waiting to Call Yourself
Kathleen Boyle:
O Nonni
Katerina Stoykova-Klemer:
Stones
Susan Deer Cloud:
Asthma
Patty Paine:
salt; or the night you left
Kyi May Kaung:
I come from …
Allan Peterson:
My Math
Maw Shein Win:
throwing sparklers at the green mezzanine
Kim Roberts:
Summer Rain
Samuel S. Vargo:
Fotophone
Janice D. Rubin:
Interstate 5
Patrick Loafman:
An Idiot's Guide to the Blue Cat
Saeed Jones:
Eve on Top
Jean Tupper:
Gisela, my friend …
Michael Spring:
Leaving Belfast
Ryan A. Bunch:
Annual Toads
Katie Hartsock:
Leaving the Forest
Contributors
Volume One Issue Two
Sweet Dimes
I offer sweet dimes to precious sleep that plays hard to get
on this night of nights — hung in the coin-op sky
like a beggar's glass eye, above the laundromat, as I become
one of many who stare through window fans and Venetian blinds
at the advertised city.
I've petitioned God, prayed to the Son of Man, to quiet
this Chrysler mind — cruising tangent streets between electric
night and dawn, but am vigilant under naked bulb —
60 cycles per second to keep pet fears from leaping
and binding my frame like snakes.
As the evening unfolds, the smell of tar and creosote prevail,
winding like Lethe through red-brick lanes and rows of lamps
that loom like hooded cobras, above the midway,
and the street of dreams — where a generation of Brandos kick
and curse their motors to life. All holy Denver
awake in the witching hour, sound of engines ripping through;
I offer sweet dimes in the Mexican night — no substitute
for what Henrico y Carlotta do so loud across the hall. I listen
with dog-envy as the moon rises above a machined skyline
as if hoisted by some giant, invisible crane.
In the distance — near the makeshift Zocalo, a Ferris-wheel
slowly turns, brilliant and burning in primary colors.
Its bright promise explodes my walls and my thoughts join
genital gangs that roam incandescent streets in the din and smoke
of carnival spring.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.
