by David McLean light is a rope to anchor us like ships floating where silence might be and the wind screams. here are thousands of forgotten things, like a junkie’s inauspicious supper, light is a rope to anchor us especially when there is cold in me, for i do not care for summer except […]
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by David McLean gently the snow will offer a whisper and cover water with the grace to harden to rock like time might when you die and everything becomes a map, when words become trees burning and the sap smoke rising to nothing above us. gently the snow will freeze us and we will […]
by David McLean like Althusser disparaging ideology, or killing his wife quietly in a corner, the day comes dressed in a shabby gray coat like one might expect an angel to wear, were the budget low enough, wardrobes independent and predictable, and splatter nevertheless still in the offing, regardless of any angel’s mythological status. […]
Posted in on August 27, 2010|
John Dutterer is a poet, prose writer, artist, husband, and father. He isn’t any good at sports, home repair, interpreting Mapquest directions, and math. Although John doesn’t have any heroes, if he did they would be Roger Federer, Kurt Schwitters, Ingmar Bergman, and Erik Satie. Jason Price Everett was born in Orlando, Florida in 1972. […]