This is a poem written by me, Grant Clover, a beat poet on rare occasion. Without further ado:
Continue reading “This Paper Stage — A Beat Poem”This Paper Stage — A Beat Poem
Year-Bare Skin — A Short Story
I’m dying inside a little more each day. Nobody sees the years in me flaking and peeling off like dead skin from my body. But I’m crumbling. These days I even have to be careful of the wind or I might lose a decade.
a scene with birds — a short story
The explanation was simple, her thoughts brought her outside. They were little nothings, bits of cotton, rolling into snowballs of increasingly hollow design — a faux psychology. Full of manys and nones. Lopsided smiles, last-minute errands.
Continue reading “a scene with birds — a short story”Black Dress — A Short Story
O free me, free me, the swaying voices puddle to be splashed in the whipping gale. Their eyes wail into the night, lost and lonely, where their arms reach and return and reach and bloom. I listen and wonder what songs would rain if you were to wring the clouds, the sky dripping with music. O free us, free us, I listen.
Continue reading “Black Dress — A Short Story”