After Your Surgery by Michael Neal Morris My book is read; the computer is down I have little to do but listen to hospital sounds: hisses and grunts of machines you not snoring nurses sliding around on tiny shoes, adoring... Continue Reading →
Ashton Cemetery by Michael Neal Morris In Ashton Cemetery, there are signs of a cold radiance and absorption: a toy underneath flowers blown over, a wet condom in the parking lot, a trucker catching up on sleep. The bare trees... Continue Reading →
Poetry Breakfast 