Featured Poet Bob Pajich (3 April 2012)

Aunt Joanne didn’t recognize me, her skin soaked in booze and cured with cigarette smoke, her...

He is the ant and I’m the parasitic cow mite, domesticated by ants. Only dry on milk they clip off...

I could never slide my hands between the dimensions and feel around for cancer like those strange...

    The old Italian touched my lover’s arm in front of the church on Liberty and...