Poetry, flash, non-fiction, and art with an edge. Any conscientious critic who has ever had to review a new volume of poetry in a limited space knows that the only fair thing to do would be to give a series of quotations without comment but, if he did so, his editors would complain that he was not earning his money. I Ate the Cosmos for Breakfast. 39 poems, 70 pages.

A blog of crime fiction, rural, working-class and Appalachian concerns. Jesus in the Ghost Room. The Balkan Route by Cal Smyth. Can Marko navigate his way through an increasingly complicated and dangerous investigation as he tries desperately to keep himself and his family safe? Bombing, and it shows. Simple Google searches of events and n.

Sunday, May 25, 2008. The Plague of Doves and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Oh, and also Maps and Legends. Thursday, May 22, 2008. I saw on the slant hill a putrid lamb,. The sleep looked deep,. The face nudged in the green pillow. But the guts were out for crows to eat. Said all for the mute breezes. Wednesday, May 21, 2008. If the Internet collected art, this is what it would buy.

Thursday, February 22, 2007. Do you really think i give a. Wednesday, January 31, 2007. maybe i used to, but not anymore. when did i stop caring so much? Have you ever wondered why Coke comes with a smile? The phosphori.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006. AND THEN THERE WAS BLACKNESS. Shadows cackled on the wall of the cell and I huddled the best I could in my bunk and blankets as I awoke in prison, in some abyss, wrong as it seemed even to me; fearful, confused. My second thought was of hell, a place dark and quiet with an occasional flickering television. Strange to me, entirely so, and I had no use for it. I had flagrant and detailed memories far prior to waking up in prison. But there was a ser.

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